


eioy 



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^eodosia Garrison 




Class _Si3il!i 
Book 



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COPyRIGHT DEPosnv 




and other Poems 



BY 



n.eodosia Garrison 




New York- 
Mitchell Kennerlcy 

iqoq 



Copyright, 1909, by Mitchell Kennerley 






LIBKARY of CONGRESS 

Two CcDies Received 

tVlAY 5 1909 

CcpyriK-nt tiitry 
!GLA«(S e^ .'Uw NO. 



For the privilege of reprinting the poems ap- 
pearing in this volume, the author thanks the 
editors of Harper's, Scrihner's, The Century, 
The Smart Set, Ainslees, Lippincotfs^ The 
Delineator, The Metropolitan, Life, The Cos- 
mopolitan, Munsey's, McClures, The Book- 
man, and others. 



TO J. G. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

- THE JOY O' LIFE . . . . 9 

TFIE PARTING OF THE WAYS 11 

THE GUESTS OF SLEEP 12 

THE MEMORIES OF PIERROT 13 

A BALLAD OF HALLOWE'EN 16 

/ THOUGHT OF LOVE i8 

THE THOUGHT 19 

THE CYNIC 20 

THE MOTHER 21 

THE FAILURES 22 

THE TRUTH 23 

THE DOOR 24 

THE SEVEN SONGS OF PENITENCE 25 

DEFEATED 27 

WHILE MARY DREAMED 28 

THE GUEST DENIED 30 

THE LIVING SEA . '. 31 

THE LAST NIGHT 32 

KNOWLEDGE 33 

THE TEARS OF HARLEQUIN 34 

THE DREAM OF THE INNKEEPER'S WIFE .... 35 

TIME 37 

BALLAD OF TWO SAINTS 39 

THE GREEN INN 40 

THE SEA-BORN 42 

THE STARS 43 

THE UNATTAINED 44 

JOHN O' DREAMS 45 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE FOOLISH FOLK 46 

STAINS 48 

A PETITION 49 

THE FIRST DAY 50 

MARIONETTES 51 

FLEURETTE 53 

DISTANCE 55 

AFTERMATH 56 

A SONG OF MARY 57 

THE APOSTLE 58 

A THANKSGIVING 59 

THE TORCH 61 

DEFIANCE 62 

THE WIFE 63 

THE MARCH 64 

TO-J^IORROW 65 

BALLAD OF EVE'S RETURN 66 

EXPERIENCE 69 

INERTIA 70 

TIVO BROTHERS • . 7^ 

THE INHERITANCE 73 

PIERRETTE 75 

PRESCIENCE 76 

THE WOUNDED 77 

THE UNPOSSESSED 78 

THE CLOSED DOOR 79 

FAILURE 80 

THE UNFORGIVEN 81 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE POET 82 

A PRISONER 83 

BARRIERS 84 

THE DEATH OF HELOISE 85 

THE LOST IVINGS 86 

THE CHILDREN 87 

THE LITTLE CHRISTIAN 89 

THE VICTORS 90 

A MORNING 91 

APRIL 92 

THE PIPER 93 

THE LIGHTS OF CROYDON 95 

AT THE DAY'S END 96 

THE FORTUNATE 97 

FIRST LOVE 98 

THE LOSER 99 

THE WINDOW loi 

TRAVESTY 102 

THE LITTLE SISTER 103 

THE GOD OF CLAY 105 

WHEN WOFFINGTON SOLD WATER-CRESS ... 106 

'TONIO 107 

THE QUEEN'S SONG 108 

THE LOST HERITAGE 112 

THE DAY'S END 114 

THE WANDERLUST 116 

/ HEARD A VOICE 118 

ON TYBURN HILL 119 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

MAY FLOJVERS 120 

CONTRAST . . . i<23 

A DREAM OF THESSALY 123 

THE GOD-GHOST 124 

A SONG OF KAMAL 127 

THE IRISH HEART 

THE DAUGHTER 131 

THE CRUEL NAME 133 

OMENS 134 

IVHEN THE LAD COMES BACK 135 

A SPRING SONG 137 

DANNY 138 

THE CALL OF HOME 139 

THE KING'S CHAMBER 143 



THE JOY O' LIFE 



THE JOY O* LIFE ^ 

OH, the Joy o' Life goes singing through the highway, 

Oh, the Joy o' Life goes swinging through the green, 
And the form of her is slight as a crescent moon at night 

And her face is some strange flower none hath seen. 
She beckoned me and w^hat could I but follow? 

(Oh, I have seen the glamour of her eyes!) 
Through the winding o' the ways, through the hundred 
nights and days 

Must I follow where she lures me woman-wise. 

My plough — I left it idle in the furrow — 

My harvest lies for other eyes to scan, 
For it's fare ye well to loam, to hearthstone and to home 

When the Joy o' Life is calling to a man. 

Oh, the Joy o' Life she calls me from the valley, 

Oh, the Joy o' Life, she hails me from the height, 
And her voice is like the thrill of the thrush when noon is 
still 

And her laughter is the lilting of delight. 
I follow through the sunshine and the moonshine — 

(Oh, I have seen the waving of her hand!) 
In the paths that know the fleet, flying touches of her feet 

At the music of her mocking of command. 

My friend — I left him fasting at my threshold — 

My sweetheart is another man's to wife, 
For it's fare ye well my own, and it's laugh and turn alone 

When a man has heard the voice of Joy o' Life. 

9 



THE JOY O' LIFE 

Oh, the Joy o' Life she ever flies before me, 

Oh, the Joy o' Life, she may not turn or wait, 
But the day must dawn at last when the distances are passed 

And the heart of me is leaping to its mate. 
I have wooed her with the strength of my pursuing — 

(Oh, I shall know the sweetness of her mouth!) 
And I may not faint or pine till her hand hath closed in mine 

Like the touch of silvern water in the drouth. 

My dead — I left them sleeping in the churchyard — 

My gods I thrust aside to bless or ban, 
For it's fare ye well and hie, and it's follow till ye die 

When the Joy o' Life is calling to a man. 



THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 

OH, the road lies green behind us like a narrow winding 
river — 

May bloom and rose bloom and whisper o' the wind — 
Sunbeams spilled along the path like arrows from a quiver — 

A^^;'^ we must press on, sweetheart, and never look behind. 
Time is left and little time for tender words and kisses, 

A little round o' purple nights, a round of golden days, 
Never was a gypsying so sweet a one as this is — 

IVe are nearing to the parting of the ways. 

When at first we took the road the crescent moon was slen- 
der, 
Like a folded lily-bud asway on curving stem; 
Night and night she spread her leaves until she flashed in 
splendour, 
Night and night her petals drooped the while we noted 
them. 
Now, before the moon is dead, let us laugh together — 
Still there lies a little way and time to kiss and praise ; 
(Oh, your hand lies light in mine as little curled white 
feather) — 
We are nearing to the parting of the ways. 

Oh, the glory of the days that we two have roved in, — 

Green wood and deep wood and low wind of the South — 
Oh, the tenderness of nights that we two have loved in — 

Soft arms and warm arms, and kisses of your mouth; 
Would that there were turning back to the path's beginnings 

Back of us the tender light, all before the haze; 
Let our feet be slow, sweetheart, the goal is weary winning — 

We are nearing to the parting of the ways. 

II 



THE GUESTS OF SLEEP 

SLEEP at the Inn o' Dreams — 

A kindly host he waits, 
And all night long a goodly throng 

Comes softly through his gates. 

A varied company — 

Scholar and clown and king, 
Or prince or priest, or great or least. 

He gives them welcoming. 

For each he fills the cup 
Where poppy petals swim, 

Wherefrom each guest at his behest 
Drinks deeply, toasting him. 

And old men drink of youth, 

And sad men of delight, 
And weary men drink deep again 

The pulsing wine of might. 

And poets drink of song, 
But best and Oh, most sweet. 

Above that brim where poppies swim 
The lips of lovers meet. 

Sleep at the Inn o' Dreams — 

A kindly host he waits. 
And all night long a goodly throng 

Comes softly through his gates. 

13 



THE MEMORIES OF PIERROT 

THERE was a morning when the April sun 
Tapped with soft fingers at the attic pane 
And fell on Pierrette's face like golden rain 

That roused her ere her happy sleep was done. 

And even so she woke him in this wise — 

Pierrot, who through his slumbers felt the stir 

Of gold hair like shed sunbeams on his eyes, 
And so waked smiling from a dream of her. 

He heard her laugh before he saw her face — 
She danced beside him at the carnival, 
Mirth-mad and masked, with jests for one and all 

A wind-swayed rose, a slender flame of grace; 

And through his pleadings, plaintive, whimsical, 
Still she denied his eyes their right to see, 
And mocked his patience, and then, suddenly. 

Lifted her hand and let the velvet fall. 

Only a little moment — then again 

Merry and masked she bade new revels start; 
But Pierrot stood in silence, and his heart 

Thrilled with such ecstasy it stung like pain. 

There was a day they parted angrily — 

The day she tossed the red rose from her hair 
Into another's hand, and did not care, 
But leaned and laughed where Pierrot frowned to 

see. 
And all alone he climbed the creaking stair 
And sat in silence and with hidden face 
13 



THE MEMORIES OF PIERROT 

While the night fell, and all the lonely place 
Yearned for her loveliness who was not there. 
So light her hand upon the swinging door 

He might not guess whose coming threw It wide; 

So light her footstep as she sought his side 
It fell as soft as moonlight on the floor. 
Then brokenly, like music In his ears. 

One sobbed his name, and as their kisses met 

He thrilled and trembled, for her eyes were wet — 
That was the night when first he knew her tears. 

They went a-MayIng when the Spring was new. 
Leaving the noisy city streets behind. 
But all the violets they bent to find 

Hid shamed because her blue eyes were more blue. 

And all the birds were mute the forest through, 
And hushed their music with a jealous wit. 
Knowing her laughter was more exquisite 

And sweeter than the sweetest song they knew. 

Alone he came to her and closed the door. 

The pitiful, new neatness of the room 
Was like a stranger's frown, and through the gloom, 

Each one an anguish and a memory. 
Ghost-like the garments that she one day wore 

Stirred as he passed them with their old perfume. 
Her caged bird called him from the window sill ; 

Still bloomed the little pot of mignonette 

Upon the casement, all unwithered yet, 
That seemed to give him welcome, and his heart 

14 



THE MEMORIES OF PIERROT 

Broke newly as he listened — for how still, 

How still she lay who last night was Pierrette! 

All night he knelt beside her till at last 

The far dawn lifted like white smoke upcurled ; 
Then from her hand as from a blossom furled, 
He drew the crucifix, and in its place 

Put roses upon roses, and so passed 

Dry-eyed and silent to the empty world. 



IS 



A BALLAD OF HALLOWE'EN 

ALL night the wild zuind on the heath 
Whistled its song of vague alarms; 

All night in some mad dance of death 
The poplars tossed their naked arms. 

Mignon Isa hath left her bed 

And bared her shoulders to the blast; 
The long procession of the dead 

Stared at her as it passed. 

'* Oh, there, methinks, my mother smiled, 
And there my father walks forlorn, 

And there the little nameless child 
That was the parish scorn. 

** And there my olden comrades move. 
And there my sister smiles apart, 

But nowhere is the fair^ false love 
That bent and broke my heart. 

" Oh, false in life, oh, false in death, 
Wherever thy mad spirit be. 

Could it not come this night," she saith, 
" To keep a tryst with me! " 

Mignon Isa hath turned alone, 

Bitter the pain and long the years; 

The moonlight on the cold gravestone 
Was warmer than her tears. 
i6 



A BALLAD OF HALLOWE'EN 

All night the wild wind on the heath 
Whistled its song of vague alarms; 

All night in some mad dance of death 
The poplars tossed their naked arms. 



17 



/ THOUGHT OF LOVE 

I THOUGHT of Love (Ah, very long ago!) 
As a great force, an all-compelling might, 
A white flame that made mid-day of the night, 

A swift bewildering, a splendid blow. 

I thought of him as of some wondrous foe 
Armed by the gods with menace and delight 
To sway, to startle and to conquer quite. 

The too rebellious heart that dared him so. 

Ah, that was long ago. To-day, grown old, 
I think of Love as sick men think of sleep. 
Yea, as a man distracted thinks of rest 

And tenderness of woman that may fold 

Close arms about his w^ounds and bid him weep 
Weakly and unashamed upon her breast. 



i8 



THE THOUGHT 

WHY, once the very thought of him was vital 

As is some crimson rose 
Flaming, defiant in a quiet garden 

Among pale lily blows. 

And yet to-day the thought of him is only 

A rose closed in a book — 
A lifeless thing long shut between dull pages 

Where she forgets to look. 

And yet I think an old love-thought forgotten 

Somewhere not wholly dies. 
It may be of such roses angels weave us 

The wreaths of Paradise. 



19 



THE CYNIC 

I SAY it to comfort me over and over, 

Having a querulous heart to beguile, 
Never had woman a tenderer lover — 

For a little while. 

Oh, there never were eyes more eager to read her 
In her saddest mood or her moments gay, 

Oh, there never were hands more strong to lead her- 
For a little way. 

There never were loftier promises given 

Of love that should guard her the ages through, 

As great, enduring and steadfast as Heaven — 
For a week or two. 

Well, end as it does, I have had it, known it. 
For this shall I turn me to weep or pray? 

Nay, rather I laugh that I thought to own it 
For more than a day. 



THE MOTHER 

AM I not kin to those high souls, elate, 

Who dreamed brave dreams too wonderful and great 

For any telling? Yea, I too have been 
As near to God as poet, seer and saint. 

And through glad tears his mysteries have seen. 
Seeing I sat as humble women may 
And sewed on little garments day by day. 

They who have known joy, flawless and complete — 
Am I not one of them, whose joy was sweet 

Beyond the bliss of lovers? Nay, above 

The calm of martyrs crowned, my joy hath been — 

The perfect crowning of perfected love, 
Seeing that one glad day against my breast 
The wonder of a little head was pressed. 

Am I not sister unto them whose tears 
All men have venerated through the years? 

There is no sorrow in a world too wide 
I may not know and feel and understand. 

Mine, mine the anguish of the Crucified, 
The heart of Mary — seeing on a day 
I kissed a child's dead face and turned away. 



ZJ. 



THE FAILURES 

WE who have failed, remember this of us — 
Oh you, whose hands have grasped the luminous 
And lovely thing that is your soul's desired, 

Though once we fell and blundered on the way, 
Though now we turn shamed faces from the day, 
Remember this — that once we too aspired. 

We who have failed through weakness or surmise. 
Be gentle with us if we turn our eyes 
Sometimes from sight of those victorious. 
Crowned and exultant on the farthest height. 
Seeing that once we watched our arms by night. 
Seeing that once we dreamed to triumph thus. 

We who have failed in life and love and task, 
Surely not overmuch this gift we ask. 
Be not too scornful, you, whose glorious. 

Undaunted souls pressed on through flood and fire. 
Of those too weak to grasp a great desire. 
We who have failed, remember this of us. 



THE TRUTH 

THAT glorious flame that was my youth 

Is burnt to ashes, flung 
And scattered, and I know the truth — 

I who one day was young. 

Wisdom is mine my peers among, 

No craft my skill defies; 
I hear beyond the flattering tongue 

And see beyond surmise. 

And this my wisdom — I grown wise 

Would toss it all in fee 
For one of Youth's delicious lies 

That one day cheated me. 

For this is wisdom's worth — to see 
That ignorance was fair, 
And more than Truth is Comedy 
With rose leaves on her hair. 



^3 



THE DOOR 

BETWEEN us stands the closed door of your grief. 

Oh, my Beloved, is this thing well done? 

What part have I with Summer and with Sun 
Since you deny them to your heart's relief? 

Was I Life's jester then and nothing more? 

Open the door! 

Think you I walk with gladness while afar 
You sit alone with sorrow? Nay, not so. 
There is no tear you shed I do not know, 

No wound you feel but I too bear its scar — 
May I not stand beside you then, the less 
Wounded by knowledge of your loneliness? 

Know this, that I, a watcher in the night, 
Would find no word to censure or complain 
Could I but see upon your window pane 

The glow of hearth-flame and of candle-light. 
So might I turn, who now may only wait 
Knowing you sit in darkness — desolate. 

Oh, my Beloved, is this thing well done? 

Is Love the veriest servant of your years 

Unworthy to be comrade of your tears? 
Was mirth alone the bond that made us one? 

Then to the clown if Love be king no more — 

Open the door! 



THE SEVEN SONGS OF PENITENCE 
I 
LONG since I wounded him I love the best, 
And all that night my pillow knew no rest; 

And in the morning I arose, and lo! 
The wound I gave him showed on mine own breast! 

Ah, then I knew how terrible the blow. 

II 

Within a dream one night I spake to thee, 
*' What is this road of thorns and misery 

That stretches from my dwelling to thy door? " 
And thou, " The road that leads thee back to me." 
Yet will I walk it steadfastly, O friend. 
What though my feet be bleeding and most sore, 
So thou shalt bind them for me at the end! 

Ill 

I sent my longing for thee like a bird 
To sing without thy door a certain word. 
The word of penitence most exquisite; 
And weary in the morning it returned 
And said, " Against his pane all night unheard 
I beat my wings, and when the red dawn burned 
One drew the casement close and fastened it." 

IV 

Beloved, are the tears I shed for thee 
Less than white roses thrown for majesty 

To trample on with cruel, careless feet? 
Nay, pass not unregarding. Pause and see. 

Grown with such pain they surely must be sweet. 
25 



THE SEVEN SONGS OF PENITENCE 



SO much I missed my joy that everywhere 
I sought It — by each corridor and stair; 

Yea, sought and called until my voice was dumb, 
Yet all the while I knew It was not there, 

But waits within thy dwelling till I come. 

VI 

Sometimes at night within thy vacant chair 
I bid another sit with face as fair, 

And laugh and drink red wine and force my heart 
To braggart boasting that we do not care; 
But when the gray dawn climbs Its windy stair. 

Truthful I waken In the old grief's might 
And cry unto the heart I bade forswear, 

'' Ah, Liar, how we lied to Love last night! " 

VII 

The door of my poor house for thee is wide 

As bridegroom swings the door that waits the bride. 

But my impatience is so great a thing 
I may not light my lamps and wait Inside, 
But I am gone to meet thee ere the day 
To cry to thee afar my welcoming. 

O friend, thy feet are slow upon the way! 



26 



DEFEATED 

I FOUGHT a battle for my friend, 

Adroitly, skilfully, 
Love lent me wit to thrust, defend — ■ 

Herself mine enemy. 

This way and that the battle went — 

Ah, we were wary foes! 
Against my force of argument 

Her stubborn will uprose. 

Her very weakness lent her strength, 

Yet strove I valiantly; 
I conquered for my friend at length — 

Herself, the victory. 

God knows a bloodless battlefield. 

Yet marvel, at the end 
I lost what most I grieved to yield, 

For whom I fought — my friend. 



27 



fVHILE MARY DREAMED 

SHE dreamed her mother-dream — the kine 

Stood silent In their stalls; 
The moonlight through the stable door 

Fell as white water falls, 
And In Its wake a shadow loomed 

Cross-fashioned on the walls. 
("How fair He is, this little son of juine! '*) 

She dreamed her mother-dream — while yet 

His head upon her breast 
Had lain so short a time that scarce 

It seemed Its softness pressed 
More than the thought of him who long 

She yearned for, unpossessed. 
{"So wonderful, so strange, so sweet He is!") 

She dreamed her mother-dream — In that 

First hour of motherhood; 
Afar men followed through the night 

A star whose vast light stood 
In highest Heaven, yet to her door 

Dripped a red flame like blood. 
("Oh, but His life is all of mine to hold!'') 

She dreamed her mother-dream — forgot 

For that one hour's brief space 
Was fear of Heaven's mysteries; 

His hand against her face 
Was as a white rose petal blown 
Across her lips' soft grace. 
(" Oh, very beautiful His life shall be! '*) 
28 



WHILE MARY DREAMED 

She dreamed her mother-dream — without 

Came fast great kings and wise; 
There crept no shadow through her bliss 

Of olden prophecies ; 
So still He was — she might not know 

The tears within His eyes. 
{"Strong shall He be and wise and ivell beloved! 

She dreamed her mother-dream — nor guessed 

One wept who knew what pain 
Would blur the anguish of her eyes, 

That sought His own in vain 
What time on Calvary's bleak height 

H^er heart should break in twain. 
{Like a great Cross the shadow on the luall!) 



29 



THE GUEST DENIED 

LOVE, I have given nothing, taken all. 

I w^ould indeed it had been otherwise, 
That In your hands I let my bounty fall, 

That at your feet I placed my sacrifice. 

Seeing that now a suppliant's patient eyes 
Seem ever in my own, too well I know 

How one who busied In the day denies 
A little child's caress and bids him go. 

Turns in remorseful dreams to where he stands 

With wistful, wondering eyes and empty hands. 
I have denied you shelter; at my door 

You cried in vain and I was deaf to you; 
Yet, If some night I went all desolate, 
Blown by strange winds adown the ways of Fate, 

It is your threshold I should struggle to, 
All confident of greeting, yea, all sure 

Of eager arms, the welcome and the kiss 
That holds all comforting. I know not why 
Yet I unfaithful dare to count you true 

And am no surer of my saints than this. 
I said to Love^ " Of these my very tears 

Behold I make a wine for thy delight. 

Drink and be glad ere yet we part this night 
Upon the threshold of the sundering years. 

Yea, pledge me now In this my sorrow's sign." 
Then Love, the while he turned from me, " Oh, child. 

Sweeter w^ere mirth of hearts impenitent — 
The tears of pity make but bitter wine. 
Better to go athlrst," he said and smiled. 

I wish he had not smiled so as he went. 
30 



THE LIVING SEA 

HOW like the city is unto the sea: 

The mighty wave of commerce breaks and beats 
In restless surges through the noisy streets, 

Swayed by the master tide of energy. 

How many derelicts, long morn to morn, 
Drift at the mercy of the wind and wave — 
The flotsam and the jetsam of the pave — 

Deserted, rudderless and tempest-torn. 

Here move great argosies with gold and bales, 

Staunch ships that dare the cunning currents' might, 
And through their long procession dart the light, 

Swift pleasure craft with sun-emblazoned sails. 

Yet, am I minded only of one thing — 

How much — how much these smiling waters drown. 
Dear God, what wrecks this very day went down. 

Unbailed, unsignalled and unsignalling! 



31 



THE LAST NIGHT 

LOW moon behind the fishers' huts, 

Long shadows on the sands, 
And blown sea-spray that fogs the way — 

(Love, let me find thy hands) — 
The little lights o' the little town — 

How far above they lie — ■ 
Like blurred stars set in a sky of jet 

When the driven mist is high. 

And to-morrow sails the fishing fleet 
(Thine eyes — thine eyes to me!) 

To-night alone is all our oivn — 
(And Mary comfort thee!) 

The long wave breaks like woman's sobs 

Against the harboured ships; 
Thy face is white as foam at night — 

(Love, let me find thy lips) ; 
What prayer is left for me to pray, 

What vow Is left unsaid 
Man hath not sworn to life unborn 

Or whispered to the dead? 

And to-morrow sails the fishing fleet 
(Thy mouth, thy mouth for me!) 

To-night alone is all our own — 
(And Mary comfort thee!) 



32 



KNOWLEDGE 

I HAVE known sorrow — therefore I 

May laugh with you, O friend, more merrily 

Than those w^ho never sorrowed upon earth 

And know not laughter's worth. 

I have known laughter — therefore I 
May sorrow with you far more tenderly 

Than those who never knew how sad a thing 
Seems merriment to one heart's suffering. 



33 



THE TEARS OF HARLEQUIN 

TO you he gave his laughter and his jest, 
His words that of all words were merriest, 

His glad, mad moments when the lights flared high 
And his wild song outshrilled the plaudits' din. 

For you that memory, but happier I — • 
I, who have known the tears of Harlequin. 

Not mine those moments when the roses lay 
Like red spilled wine on his triumphant way. 

And shouts acclaimed him through the music's beat. 
Above the voice of flute and violin. 

But I have known his hour of sore defeat — • 
I — I have known the tears of Harlequin. 

Light kisses and light words, they were not mine — 
Poor perquisites of many a Columbine 

Bought with his laughter, flattered by his jest; 
But when despair broke through the painted grin, 

His tortured face has fallen on my breast — 
I — I have known the tears of Harlequin. 

You weep for him, who look upon him dead. 
That joy and jest and merriment are fled ; 

You weep for him, what time my eyes are dry, 
Knowing what peace a weary soul may win 

Stifled by too much masking — ^even I — 
I, who have known the tears of Harlequin. 



34 



THE DREAM OF THE INNKEEPER'S WIFE 

" Because there zvas no room for them in the inn." 

THE childless mother rose from sleep 

While yet there was no light, 
And thrust aside the casement wide 

With hands that shook from fright, 
And leaned far out, and all about 

A wild storm tore the night. 

" Oh, but this dream hath pierced my heart ; 

Since I was lain in bed 
Methought mine own dead little son, 

Who never word hath said, 
Stood at my knee and spake to me 

As one uncomforted. 

" ' And, mother, oh, my mother,' he said, 

' The night is dread and drear. 
But housed and warm from hurt and storm 

Ye sleep and know no fear, 
Though in the wold one cried with cold 

Ye did not hark nor hear. 

" ' And staunch and strong thy roof-tree is. 

And filled my father's inn, 
And every guest hath food and rest 

Yet this night through their din 
Soft at thy door did one implore 

Who entrance could not win. 
35 



THE DREAM OF THE INNKEEPER'S WIFE 

" ' And, mother, oh^ my mother,' he said, 

' Go take the linen fine 
Where one time I did softly lie, 

The pillow that was mine, 
For sick and sore on thy stable floor 

One travails 'mongst the kine.' 

" What was it of a star he spake? 

My thoughts are shifting sand — ■ 
What else I heard fell strange and blurred, 

I might not understand. 
Yet did it seem not all a dream." 

Her head dropped on her hand. 

" Yea, of a child new-born he spake, 

And this were truth^ full fain 
Were I to fleet through wind and sleet 

To where my kine are lain, 
If on my breast could there be pressed 

A little head again. 

" Nay, let me to my weary bed 

And bid the thought go by." 
She bent her head, the tears she shed 

Fell swift and silently. 
And while she wept a great star leapt 

And flamed across the sky. 



36 



TIME 

TIME is not made of months or days- 
Too well this truth I know; 

Truly the hour of our first kiss 
Was centuries ago. 

Close, close our parting followed it, 

Yet, reckon as men may, 
Surely our anguish of farewell 

Was only yesterday. 



37 



BALLAD OF TWO SAINTS 

THERE are two saints in Paradise 

Who spake of little earth, 
And wonderful they are and wise 

And know their wisdom's worth, 
Though the years they lived are cold, and blown 

Like ashes from a hearth. 



And one, " Within a market-place 

I spake a certain word, 
And hatred shone on every face, 

And they reviled who heard ; 
Yet spake I but on earth to-day 

How earth were thrilled and stirred! 



And one, " Unto a crowned king 

I spake a word of fear, 
And I was broken for this thing, 

Yea, scourged with scorn and jeer 
Yet spake I upon earth to-day 

How men would weep to hear! " 



There are two saints in Paradise — 
Now if they came again 

To walk before the careless eyes 
And listless heed of men, 

I wonder if myself would go 
To kneel before them then. 
38 



BALLAD OF TWO SAINTS 

There are two saints in Paradise — • 
Dead men gave heed to them, 

Yet if to-day in Heavenly guise 
They came to urge, condemn, 

I wonder if mj-self would go 
To kiss their garments' hem. 



39 



THE GREEN INN 

I SICKEN of men's company, 

The crowded tavern's din, 
Where all day long with oath and song 

Sit they who entrance win, 
So come I out from noise and rout 

To rest in God's Green Inn. 



Here none may mock an empty purse 
Or ragged coat and poor, 

But Silence waits within the gates 
And Peace beside the door; 

The weary guest is welcomest. 
The richest pays no score. 



The roof is high and arched and blue, 
The floor is spread with pine; 

On my four walls the sunlight falls 
In golden flecks and fine; 

And swift and fleet on noiseless feet 
The Four Winds bring me wine. 



Upon my board they set their store — 
Great drinks mixed cunningly 

Wherein the scent of furze is blent 
With odour of the sea; 

As from a cup I drink it up 
To thrill the veins of me. 
40 



THE GREEN INN 

It's I will sit in God's Green Inn 

Unvexed by man or ^host, 
Yet ever fed and comforted, 

Companioned by mine host, 
And watched at night by that white light 

High swung from coast to coast. 



O you, who in the House of Strife 

Quarrel and game and sin, 
Come out and see what cheer may be 

For starveling souls and thin 
Who come at last from drought and fast 

To sit in God's Green Inn. 



41 



THE SEA-BORN 

OH, my Heart, 

To see before we die 
The black clouds gather 

Like midnight in the sky; 
And watch the sea rein back 
Her quivering, white-maned pack 

That instant ere she flings them free 
To thunder down the track. 

Oh, my Heart, 

But once to watch again 
The East wind swinging 

The stinging whips of rain; 
To feel upon my face 
The sharp, salt spray, and chase 

The flying foam the combers fling 
Like dust-clouds in their race. 

Oh, my Heart, 

To feel again the warm 
Exultant youth within us 

Go shouting with the storm; 
But once — ere yet we turn 
Where peaceful candles burn 

Above the quiet chimney-seat 
Where Age may rest — and yearn. 



42 



THE STARS 

I SHALL walk bravely, bravely through my days. 
Though love, that flaming torch that lighted me, 
Has dropped away in darkness utterly, 

I shall not falter on these unguessed ways. 
Nor cry aloud for any spark to see 
The forward step, lest, failing, I may be 

A lost thing dazed and wailing in the haze. 

For God, who gives each soul its certain light. 
Will leave me not in darkness. For a space 
I may go blindly where no guidance bars. 

Yet, confident that in this torchless night, 
Sudden shall break above my upturned face 
The white, unchanging radiance of the stars. 



43 



THE UNATTAINED 

I AM the lark, dear soul, and you 
That Heaven he aspires to 

What time he sings. 
Perchance if Heaven were nearer he 
Had dared no height with melody 

Nor found his wings. 



44 



JOHN O' DREAMS 

WHAT a world that was you planned us— 

Made of Summer and the sea, 
Where the very wind that fanned us 

Drifted down from Arcady. 
There where never Fate might sunder 

Rose your castle's shining beams. 
Are you there to-day, I wonder, 

John o' Dreams? 

That was but a trick Life played you 

When this planet knew your birth, 
When she trapped your soul and made you 

One of us on dreary earth. 
Since for you what fancies crossed it. 

Lures of alien stars and streams, 
Have you found the path or lost it, 

John o' Dreams? 

Just a little day in May-time 

Once I took the road with you ; 
Just a boy and girl in play-time 

With a vision to pursue. 
I but glimpsed the glow around it 

Ere I turned, and yet it seems 
Sometimes that you surely found it, 

John o' Dreams? 



45 



THE FOOLISH FOLK 

BETWEEN Life's gates of mystery 

Throng solemn men and wise, 
With scales to weigh the things that be, 

To sift, reject and prize; 
Long bowed beneath their wisdom's yoke 

They ponder as is meet. 
But we, we be the foolish folk 

Who know the world is sweet. 

Scholar and sage and fearful priest. 

They trudge a dismal quest, 
And marvel if the great be least 

Or if the least be best; 
Weighs each the worth of prince or hind 

'Neath cowl and cap and hood, 
But we, we be the foolish kind 

Who know the world is good. 

Within the dust of yesterdays 

Their gaunt hands dip and stir; 
They ponder on to-morrow's ways 

And guess, distrust, aver; 
Yesterday's fault, to-morrow's sin 

Their withered lips repeat. 
But we^ we be the foolish kin 

Who know to-day is sweet. 

Oh, wise men of the sombre heart, 

We be of little worth, 
Who play our useless games apart 

And take our joy of earth; 
46 



THE FOOLISH FOLK 

God's mirth when this His world awoke 

Ye have not understood — 
We only heard, we foolish folk 

Who know that life is good. 



47 



STAINS 

THE three ghosts on the lonesome road 

Spake each to one another, 
'* Whence came that stain about your mouth 

No lifted hand may cover?" 
" From eating of forbidden fruit, 

Brother, my brother." 

The three ghosts on the sunless road 

Spake each to one another, 
" Whence came that red burn on your foot 

No dust nor ash may cover? " 
" I stamped a neighbour's hearth-flame out. 

Brother, my brother." 

The three ghosts on the windless road 

Spake each to one another, 
" Whence came that blood upon your hand 

No other hand may cover? " 
" From breaking of a woman's heart, 

Brother, my brother." 

" Yet on the earth clean men we walked, 
Glutton and Thief and Lover; 

White flesh and fair it hid our stains 
That no man might discover." 

" Naked the soul goes up to God, 
Brother, my brother." 



48 



A PETITION 

HERE among your poppy fields, 

Idleness, I pray you, 
Let me wander lazy-eyed, 

Slow of thought and pace; 
Empty-handed, light of heart, 

Eager to obey you. 
To loaf and make a madrigal 

Tuned to fit your face. 

Sick am I of strife and toil, 

I would seek your daisies. 
Count the clouds and doze and dream 

Through drowsy afternoons. 
Prithee, take me by the hand — 

Show me where the way is — • 
Let me change the clink of gold 

For your linnets' tunes. 

Idleness! O Idleness, 

Smile a welcome for me; 
Here's a minstrel out of voice, 

A w^eary heart to rest. 
Soothe me with the pipes of Pan, 

Hum his music o'er me, 
Rock me like a tired child 

Sleepy on your breast. 



49 



THE FIRST DAY 

I SLEEP^ who yesterday was tired, 

I, who was very weary, rest, 
I have forgot all things desired 

Or what were bad or what were best; 

Wan roses lie upon my breast 
And make a pillow for my head; 

I know not am I banned or blest, 
Who am most quiet — being dead. 

Perchance to-morrow God may come 
With awfulness of mouth and brow, 

And bid me speak^ who would be dumb, 
My sins of yesterday; but now, 
I have forgotten deed and vow, 

I have been soothed and comforted, 

And clothed with peace, I know not how, 

Who am most happy — being dead. 

A moment since one touched my hair — 

There were hot tears upon my face; 
To-morrow I may wake and care 

And hunger for a lost embrace; 

But now, one dim, delicious space, 
My joys are done, my tears are shed ; 

I may lie still, who have the grace 
Of all forgetting — being dead. 



50 



MARIONETTES 

THE poor little, pitiful things — 
Each boasted a full control 
Of purpose and mind and soul; 
Each thought by his separate will 
He walked, danced, fell, stood still; 
They never suspected the strings 
That dangled them here and there 
Through rapture, grief or despair, 
That held them in pairs and sets — 
The poor little marionettes. 



When they went each night on the stage 
In the paste-board theatre's space, 
When they danced there, face to face. 
Each thought it wish of his own 
That brought them together, alone. 
Each thought it her pride, his rage. 
The strength of each tinsel heart 
That forced them to scorn, to part 
In the light of the candle-jets — 
The poor little marionettes. 



Each gave himself praise or blame. 
The poor little, pitiful things 
That never suspected the strings, 
That never guessed that they hung, 
Pirouetted or parted, swung 
51 



MARIONETTES 

By the hand that planned the game; 

Each flattered himself that he 

Made his own, sole destiny, 
His raptures, fears and regrets — 
The poor little marionettes. 

Ah well ! Is it worth a sigh 
From us who are sure of this: 
That we won for ourselves love's kiss, 
That we made our time and hour. 
Grew joy from bud to flower? 
We can laugh at them, you and I, 
At the poor little, pitiful things 
That never suspected the strings. 
Mere shadows and silhouettes — • 
The poor little marionettes. 



52 



FLEURETTE 

(An Epitaph) 

THIS is she who was Fleurette — 
Something hardly woman, just 
One to smile at, scarce to trust ; 
Something delicate, unstyled 
'Twixt a flower and a child, 
Too exquisite to regret — 
Fleurette. 

This is she who was Fleurette — 
She whose laughter was as light 
As the moon-snow in the night ; 
She whose heart was like a bird 
At a whisper thrilled and stirred, 
Bird-like ready to forget — 
Fleurette. 

This is she who was Fleurette — 
She whose gay eyes never knew 
One harsh word to stain their blue 
She whose lips were never lent 
Save to kiss or merriment, 
Just for mirth and music set — 
Fleurette. 

This Is she who was Fleurette — 
She who never woman-wise 
Carried love in her sweet eyes; 
53 



FLEURETTE 

If she knew it — ah, who knows? 

Can we ask love from a rose, 
Pity from a violet? 
Fleurette. 

This is she who was Fleurette — 
Flower-like she lived and died 
One brief Springtime glorified ; 
Something far too fair to stay 
For the coming of things gray 
When the winds of Winter fret — 
Fleurette. 

This is she who was Fleurette — 
To be sighed for, wished for, say 
As a rose of yesterday; 

Thought of 'twixt a smile and sigh, 
Yet to-day, I wonder why, 
As I smile my eyes are wet — 
Fleurette. 



54 



DISTANCE 

WE have clasped hands again, ah true, 
We have no quarrel — that is done — 
But nevermore beneath the sun 

Comes back to me that friend I knew. 

We shall break bread together; men 
May mark no difference in our ways, 
But only through my yesterdays 

The friend I loved shall walk again. 

We have forgiven — act and speech 

Have proved it. Who shall then surmise 
That space between our hearts that lies 

Unbridged — beyond all sound or reach! 



55 



AFTERMATH 

WHEN I am old and very tired, 
A presence near a chimney-place 
With folded hands and quiet face, 

Loving no more, no more desired, 

God grant one memory to me 

Shall ghost-like waver through the gloom, 

And silent in a silent room 
Come close to bear me company. 

And those who pass perchance shall smile 
With wondering eyes upon me bent. 
" How still she sits, in what content. 

Who lingers yet a little while." 

They shall not guess, those over-wise. 
How through the calm content of me 
The face of that mad memory 

Leans close and smiles within my eyes. 

Until I feel in very truth 

The girl-heart thrilling in my breast 
What time upon my own are pressed 

The passionate warm lips of Youth. 

And they shall pity who but see 

Dead ashes where the flames were bold, 
A woman sad and very old 

Who sits in silence patiently. 



56 



A SONG OF MARY 

NOW wheresoe'er she came 
The llh'es like white flame 
Sprang up to meet her feet, 

And everywhere the stir, 
The mystic rhyme and beat 

Of music moved with her, 
(Oh, Virgin, meek and sweet!) 
Long days before the morn 
When the Lord Christ was born. 

Whoe'er she looked upon, 
The meanest, humblest one. 
Grew wonderful of face; 
The child she bent to kiss 
Of her diviner grace 

Stood with God's lips on his 
For that dear moment's space, 
Long days before the morn 
When the Lord Christ was born. 

And wheresoe'er she went 
The blossomed branches bent 
Above her head for shade, 

Knowing herself the Spring, 
Oh, maiden unafraid. 

Wherein the blossoming 
Of the whole world was laid. 
Long days before the morn 
When the Lord Christ was born. 
57 



THE APOSTLE 

LOVE came so near to me that I 
Felt the air stir as he went by; 
And for a space his garment's hem 

Touched me, the while with rapid feet 
He went his way. Am I not one of them, 

Therefore, to tell all men that Love is sweet? 

Love came so near to me, awhile 
I saw the wonder of his smile 
Albeit he smiled not on me. 

I, who have seen his godlihood. 
May not my voice 'mongst his apostles be 

To cry unto all men that Love is good ? 

Love came so near, so near to me. 
That still I feel what bliss might be 
Had he but paused a little space. 

Ah, longing that has no relief. 
Am I not one of those whose tears have grace 

To cry unto all men that Love is grief .f* 



S8 



A THANKSGIVING 

LONG enough have I lived and sought to know the value 

of things, 
To know the gold from the tinsel, to judge the clowns 

from the kings; 
Love have I known and been glad of, joys of the earth have 

been mine, 
But to-day do I give my thanks for a rarer gift and fine. 

For the friendship of true women. Lord, that hath been 

since the world had breath. 
Since a woman stood at a woman s side to comfort through 

birth and death. 
You have made us a bond of mirth and tears to last forever 

and aye — • 
For the friendship of true women. Lord, take you my thanks 

to-day. 

Now much have I found to be glad of, much have I sor- 
rowed for, 

But naught Is better to hear than foot of a friend at the 
door; 

And naught Is better to feel than the touch of a sister hand 

That says, " What are words between us — I know and may 
understand." 

For the friendship of true women. Lord, that hath lasted 

since time began. 
That is deeper far and finer far than the friendship of man 

to man; 

59 



A THANKSGIVING 

For the tie of a kinship wonderful that holds us as blood- 
bonds may — 

For the friendship of true women. Lord, take you my thanks 
to-day. 

Many the joys I have welcomed, many the joys that have 

passed, 
But this is the good unfailing and this is the peace that 

shall last; 
From love that dies and love that lies and love that must 

cling and sting 
Back to the arms of our sisters we turn for our comforting. 

For the friendship of true ivomen. Lord, that hath been and 
ever shall be 

Since a woman stood at a woman s side at the cross of 
Calvary ; 

For the tears we weep and the trusts we keep and the self- 
same prayers we pray — 

For the friendship of true women, Lord, take you my thanks 
to-day. 



60 



THE TORCH 

LORD, let me be the torch that springs to light 
And lives its life in one exultant flame, 

One leap of living fire against the night 
Dropping to darkness even as it came. 

For I have watched the smouldering of a soul 
Choked in the ashes that itself hath made, 

Waiting the slow destruction of the whole, 
And turned from it, bewildered and afraid. 

Light me with love — with hate — with all desire 
For that I may not reach, but let me burn 

My little moment in pulsating fire 
Ere yet into the darkness I return ; 

Be it for guard, or menace, peace or sword, 
Make me thy torch to burn out sw^iftly. Lord. 



6i 



DEFIANCE 

YOU have hounded me well, my Lady Life, 
You have beaten and bruised and bent, 

But ever I stayed me amid the strife 
To turn you a compliment. 

You may cozen me there and trick me here — 
Your way with a soul long since — 

But I'll mock before I'll plead, my dear. 
And I'll boast before I wince. 

Why, think you to make me a captive cowed? 

That day that you slay, I swear 
I will kiss my finger-tips to the crowd 

And jest with the headsman there. 



62 



THE WIFE 

LET me be steadfast, Lord, nor pray you make 
This heart of mine a weakling thing to break; 

Still let its strength endure unto that day 
He pleads its sheltering for old love's sake 

When all the hounds of Hate are on his way. 

I pray you, Lord, let not my laughter fall ; 
Set still the curve of it on lips grown pale, 

Seeing that one day he may crave their mirth 
As men forespent may yearn through snow and gale 

The dear, accustomed warmth of home and hearth. 

Give me all faith, dear Lord, that trusting so 
I may not guess how futile Is the glow 

Of this poor lamp — how vain the wide-flung door. 
Feed me with patience, Lord, nor let me know 

How many starved on this brave hope before. 



63 



THE MARCH 

I, WHO was very wear}^, turn again 
To face the journey of the winding day, 

To take my place amid the march of men 
And be as brave as they. 

To toil — to dare — to battle — to rejoice 
Until again night yields us resting place; 

And yet I have not heard my captain's voice 
Nor ever seen his face. 

Nor do I know wherefore we strive or when 
The strife shall end. I only know each day 

I take my place amid the march of men 
And listen — and obey. 



64 



TO-MORROIV 

"TO-MORROW" and "To-morrow," so you say; 

To-morrow and your lips are mine to kiss. 
Who knows but when that red sun goes his way 

He may not light another day than this? 

What if to-morrow in Death's borderland, 

Two wistful, pulseless ghosts, we meet and say. 

With groping hands that touch no other hand, 
" God pity us — we wasted yesterday! " 



65 



BALLAD OF EVE'S RETURN 

'TWAS Eve came back to Paradise 
And paused without the gate ; 

The angels with the flaming swords 
Stood each beside the grate — 

And clean-white was one sword like love, 
And one was red like hate. 



The white hosts leaned from Heaven to see 

The woman of first sin ; 
Above her head the burning blades 

Crossed menacing and thin, 
And lo! a great voice spake through space, 

" My people, let her in! " 

Down dropped the swords on either side, 
The thrice-barred gate swung free; 

Blossomed and bright and beckoning 
Stirred sun-filled flower and tree. 

But Eve stood still without the gate, 
Nor wistfully spake she, 

" Afar my strong man breaks the soil, 

And as he toils he sings 
That I may know that still his love 

Grows with earth's growing things. 
An I came In who else might lean 

To greet his homecomings? 
66 



BALLAD OF EVE'S RETURN 

" And what to me were Paradise 

And languid days of ease 
Seeing the peace that springs from toil 

Is lovelier than these, 
What time, at evenfall we two 

Rest 'neath our new-grown trees." 



The thrice-barred gate swung free and wide- 
Smiling she shook her head, 

" An I came in what place would be 
For one beside/' she said, 

" Who failing my two arms to-night 
Would weep uncomforted. 

" And what to me were Paradise 

Since I have known the best — 
My true mate's eyes within my eyes, 

The man-child at my breast. 
Their exquisite, dear need of me 

That makes me wholly blest." 

The thrice-barred gate swung free and wide 

To show the sun-filled way; 
The blossomed heights of Paradise 

Lured her as live things may. 
'Twas Eve who stood without the gate 

And laughed and turned away. 
67 



BALLAD OF EVE'S RETURN 

Aghast, amazed^ the hosts of Heaven 
Broke forth in 'wildered cries, 

" Where, then, is that her punishment 
Thou didst devise. Most Wise, 

What time Thy vengeance drove her forth 
Outcast from Paradise?" 

Beneath the answering voice they bent 

As wind-swayed forests move, 
" My people, of this woman's word 

Take ye the truth thereof ; 
Learn ye thus late her punishment 

Came not of hate but love! 

" Wiser than ye is she who guessed 

My meaning over long; 
Love cast her forth from Paradise — 

Now when hath love wrought wrong?" 

^ *i^ ^ ^ T^ 

And suddenly the courts of Heaven 
Thrilled with adorning song. 



68 



EXPERIENCE 

LITTLE SISTER, if I told you of the way 
Wherein my feet went straying yesterday, 

If I warned you of the pitfalls and the snares. 
Would you straight forgo your Maying for my prayers, 
And, lest you too might wander, pause and stay? 
Nay, not so — 
Where other feet have gone, your feet must go. 

Little Sister, if I showed without disguise 
My thorn-pierced hands and wounded to your eyes. 
Would you turn aside from roses warily 
Lest you too feel the thorns no man may see? 
Would you watch them bloom and beckon — and be wise? 
Nay, not so — ■ 
You too must have your will where roses blow. 

Little Sister^ if I showed my heart to you, 
With too much loving bruised and broken through. 
Would you keep your own a white and hidden thing 
From that strange joy whose end is sorrowing? 
Would you take my scars for sign this thing is true? 
Nay, not so — 
Your heart must learn what wiser hearts may know. 



69 



INERTIA 

I NEED you so — you need me not at all — 

This is the bitterest of bitter things; 

You make my love the puny plant that clings 
To the firm granite of a mighty wall, 
Helpless to aid its strength or stay its fall. 

I would not have you weaker, yet I know 
My strength had grown in answer to your call 

And reached its highest measure striving so. 
Now I but lean where once I might have led 

If you had craved my helping. Now I stand 
Crippled through very uselessness. I dread 

Lest some day you should seek a guiding hand 
And I shall tremble from you all dismayed, 
Having at last forgotten how to aid. 



70 



TWO BROTHERS 

THE dead son's mother sat and wept 
And her live son plucked at her gown, 

" Oh, mother, long is the watch we've kept! " 
But she beat the small hands down. 

The little live son he clung to her knee — 
And frightened his eyes and dim — • 

'' Have ye never, my mother, a word for me? 
But she turned her face from him, 

Saying, " Oh and alack, mine own dead son, 
Could I know but the path a-right. 

How fast and how fast my feet would run 
Through the way o' Death to-night! " 

Saying, " Oh and alack, for thy empty place 
And the ache in my heart to hide! " 

The little live son hath touched her face, 
But she thrust his hands aside. 

The mother hath laid her down and wept 
In the midnight's chill and gloom; 

In the hour ere dawn while the mother slept 
The ghost came in the room. 

And the little live son hath called his name 

Or ever he passed the door, 
" Oh, brother, brother, 'tis well ye came, 

For our mother's grief is sore! 
71 



TWO BROTHERS 

" Oh, brother, brother, she weeps for thee 

As a rain that beats all day, 
But me she pushes from off her knee 

And turneth her eyes away." 

And the little dead son he spake again, 
" My brother, the dead have grace 

Though they lay them low from the sight of men 
With a white cloth on their face. 

" Oh, brother, the dead have gifts of love, 

Though lonely and low they lie. 
By my mother's love do I speak and move 

And may not wholly die." 

The little live son he sighed apart, 

" Oh, brother, ye live," quoth he, 
" In my mother's grief and my mother's heart 

And my mother's memory. 

" And vain for thee is my mother's cry," 

The little live son hath said, 
" For ye are loved and ye may not die — 

It is only I who am dead! " 



72 



THE INHERITANCE 

" WHAT left thy fathers to thee when they died, 

Oh, honest neighbour?" 
*' Gold pieces, broad and fruitful lands and wide, 

Surcease from labour." 
" And nothing else? " " What better could there be. 

Oh, vagrant daring 
Who rests an hour 'neath my staunch roof-tree 

From onward faring? 

" What left thy fathers that these meet thy look 

With such dissavour? " 
" Faith, friend, they left me but a tattered book 

And this lute's favour. 
Yet do I bear much wealth within my hold. 

Oh, poorer brother. 
Seeing the pages of the one are gold, 

Gold-voiced the other." 

" For thy inheritance I would not fling 

A silver penny ! " 
" Nay, friend, heaped treasures could not buy this thing 

Though thou hast many. 
Fearful of losing much thou e'en must pray 

Meek prayers and troubled 
While lightsomely each day and every day 

My wealth is doubled." 

" Hast thou no envy of my flocks and kine, 

My hearth and housing? " 
*' Nay, friend, a larger, fairer space is mine 

For my carousing. 

73 



THE INHERITANCE 

Through doonvays low or high my song hath worth 

To bid me enter. 
My fathers left me freedom of the earth 

From edge to centre! 

" So fare thee well, mine host, the night goes swift 

And I would follow." 
" Farewell, my King o' Tatters, who makes shift 

Like any swallow." 
Farewell they said — I saw Sir Pompous glance 

His puzzled scorning, 
While he of the divine inheritance 

Pressed on to morning. 



74 



PIERRETTE 

THE empty street was gray with dawn, 
But everywhere the lamps burned still 

As though a dead man's eyes stared on 
Through some undying will. 

The city seemed no more a thing 

Than some great door she might not move, 

That, blank and all unanswering, 
Barred her from rest and love. 

The morning wind, like some pale ghost, 
Fretted the tavern's creaking sign 

As though it whimpered to the host 
For sorrow's anodyne. 

The mist clung damply to her dress, 

Dragging the listless, tired feet 
That still on that quest purposeless, 

Toiled up and down the street. 

And grayed the hair's pathetic gold 

Where one day Love's own hand was laid. 

And weary she, and very cold, 
And bitterly afraid. 



75 



PRESCIENCE 

WAS there any sign that came to her 
Ere the dream was a certain thing? 

Nay — she but thought she heard the stir 
Of the closed buds blossoming. 

Was there any sign that she knew at all 
Ere the false little dream took wing? 

Nay — she but thought she felt the fall 
Of a snowflake in the Spring. 



76 



THE WOUNDED 

IT was my Beloved's voice 

Hailed and called me in ; 
He, who bade the lutes exult 

Through the viol's din, 
Kissed me thrice upon my lips, 

Bade the feast begin. 

It was my Beloved's hand 

Gave me bread and wine; 
He, who smiled within my eyes, 

With sweet words and fine. 
Crowned me with the wreath he wore 

For his loving's sign. 

It was my Beloved's hand 

Ere the dawn was blue, 
While his eyes were deep in mine, 

While my lips he knew, 
Sudden, with a traitor's blow, 

Stabbed me through and through. 

It was my Beloved's hand 

Thrust me to the ground. 
Mock, O you, who, stabbed of Hate, 

Pass me, healed and sound. 
Me, who, in the house of Love, 

Perish of my wound. 



77 



THE UNPOSSESSED 

MY Heart's Desire hath led me 

Through barren lands and vain, 
And bitter bread she fed me 

And bade me drink of pain. 
Ah me, I climbed a weary way 

To heights of her disdain, 
Yet would I give the years I live 

To walk the path again. 

The Heart's Possessed beside me 

Leads me a level way; 
There may no ill betide me, 

No thirst or famine stay. 
She hath no wish but wish of mine, 

No joy save to obey, 
And at my side her form must bide 

Until my dying day. 

My Heart's Possessed hath stilled me 

From all unrest malign; 
Yea, eased the hope that thrilled me 

With too keen pain and fine. 
Yet, oh, my Heart, my Heart's Desire, 

My ungained dream divine 
That never turned the while I yearned 

Nor closed her hands in mine. 



78 



THE CLOSED DOOR 

I NEVER crossed your threshold with a grief 
But that I went without it; never came 
Heart-hungry but you fed me, eased the blame 

And gave the sorrow solace and relief. 

I never left you but I took away 

The love that drew me to your side again 
Through that wide door that never could remain 

Quite closed between us for a little day. 

O Friend, who gave and comforted, who knew 
So over well the want of heart and mind, 
Where may I turn for solace now, or find 

Relief from this unceasing loss of you? 

Be It for fault, for folly or for sin, 

Oh, terrible my penance and most sore — 
To face the tragedy of that closed door 

Whereby I pass and may not enter In. 



79 



FAILURE V 

OH, long and dark the stairs I trod 
With stumbling feet to find my God. 

Gaining a foothold bit by bit, 
Then slipping back and losing it. 

Never progressing, striving still 

With weakening grasp and fainting will. 

Bleeding to climb to God, while He 
Serenely smiled, unnoting me. 

Then came a certain time when I 
Loosened my hold and fell thereby. 

Down to the lowest step my fall 
As though I had not climbed at all. 

And while I lay despairing there. 
Listen, a footfall on the stair! 

In the same path where I, dismayed, 
Faltered and fell and lay afraid. 

And lo! when hope had ceased to be, 
My God came down the stairs to me. 



So 



THE UNFORGIFEN 

NEVER for me shall your lamp be lighted, 
Never for me shall your door stand wide, 
Though the ghost may come when the man has 
died 

To keep the oath that his live lips plighted. 

Though a thousand lights on the way be sighted, 
Dark and unhoused one heart must bide ; 

Never for me shall your lamp be lighted, 
Never for me shall your door stand wide. 

I pay the price of a wrong unrighted — 
I am free of the world from tide to tide. 
But I never may kneel by one love's side. 

Penitent, heart sick for all I slighted. 

Never for me shall your door stand wide. 

Never for me shall your lamp be lighted. 



gi 



THE POET 

FIRE he put upon his lips, 

In his heart a blade, 
" Thus," quoth Allah to his Saints, 

" Are my poets made." 

" Yet what use," the Maker sighed 

To his angels near; 
" Since I may not give the world 

Ears that it may hear." 



82 



A PRISONER 

HIS youth was like that mariner of old, 

Keen with the daring that makes dreams come true, 
Who steered a course courageous to those new, 

Strange lands that ever beckoned to the bold ; 

To whom adventure was a cup of gold 

From which the valiant, thirsting spirit drew 
That wine of singing life, the old gods' brew, 

To make their heroes glad with strength untold. 

This was his youth triumphant. See to-day 

How life hath thrust him crippled 'neath her bars 
Of ceaseless toil and sordid hopes and gains — 

A prisoner of Fate who needs must stay 

With dulled eyes turned forever from the stars, 
A bound Columbus weighed with many chains. 



8j 



BARRIERS 

NOW who art thou, between me and my Life, 

My Life that beckons me? 
'* I am thy Heritage. Oh, young heart rife 
With hope and dreams and daring, let these be 
Silent forever. I, who may not tire, 
With old arms bar the way to thy desire." 

Now who art thou between me and my Life, 

My Life that calls, that calls ? 
** I am thy Duty. Far from mirth or strife 
A withered beldam shut within dull walls. 
I ask that service thou shalt not deny 
And my least plaints are thongs to hold thee by." 

Now who art thou between me and my Life, 

My Life that cries for me? 
" I am thy Love. In thy hand rests the knife 
That slays and sets thee free. 

Mine are these feeble fingers at thy heart — 
Strike if thou hast the courage, and depart." 



84 



THE DEATH OF HELOISE 

SURELY your life draws hourly near to mine; 
But yet a little and my hands shall lie 
Close in your own the while earth mistily 

Fades like a cloud against the sunset line. 

Have we not waited, bravely desolate, 
Telling our rosaries of patient tears 
Climbing these endless tairs of barren years 

Niched by those pallid priests who bade us wait? 

Have we not toiled each to his separate height? 
Surely our paths approach, and suddenly 
One space shall hold us both, and there shall be 

A sound of singing from the shattered night. 

And full against the dawn, God's saints, aghast. 
Shall watch us cling, and laugh and sob, " At last! 



85 



THE LOST WINGS 

" KNOW you where it was I lost my wings?" 
" Oh, poet, at the Mart of Sordid Things 

Where the merchants strive and barter all day long, 
Where the clamour of the huckster drowned your song. 
Oh, poet, at the Mart of Sordid Things." 



" Know you where it was I lost my wings? " 
" Oh, poet, at the House of Pleasing Things — 
At the place of noisy laughter, where the mirth 
Of wine and feasting dragged your song to earth. 
Oh, poet, at the House of Pleasing Things." 



" Know you where it was I lost my wings? " 
" Oh, poet, at the Place of Trifling Things — 
The little scorn, the spite, the lesser love, 
These maimed your song and killed the sweets thereof. 
Oh, poet, at the Place of Trifling Things." 



"Where then shall I find my wings again?" 
" Oh, poet, in the Prison House of Pain — 

From the silence, from the anguish, from the night 
Shall the sudden song of singing thrill to flight. 
Oh, poet, in the Prison House of Pain." 



86 



THE CHILDREN 

MOTHER of many children I — sprung of my heart and 

my brain — 
And some have been born in gladness and some have been 

born in pain ; 
But one has gone singing from out my door 
To never come back again. 



Content and Ease and Comfort — they abide with me day 
by day; 

They smooth my couch and place my chair as dutiful chil- 
dren may, 
And Success and Power, my strong-limbed sons. 

Stand ever to clear my way. 



And these be the prudent children, the careful children and 

wise ; 
There was one and only one with a reckless dream In his 

eyes. 
He who was one with the wind o' the dawn 
And kin to the wood and the skies. 

Faithful and fond are my children, and they tend me well. 

In sooth; 
Success and Content and Power, good proof Is mine of their 
truth, 
But the name of him that I lost was Joy, 
My first-born Joy of Youth. 

87 



THE CHILDREN 

Well do my children guard me, jealous of this their right; 
Carefully, soberly, ever by daylight and candle-light. 

But oh, for my prodigal Joy of Youth 
Somewhere out in the night! 



88 



THE LITTLE CHRISTIAN 

HE trembled In the morning, 

At noon he was afraid, 
And heavy on his heart at night 

The hand of fear was laid. 

A presence walked beside him 

Of horror and of fright — • 
A shadow in the sunshine, 

A menace in the night. 

And this that dragged his childhood, 
This thing of scourge and rod, 

They gave him as a priceless gift 
And bade him call it Grod. 

They made for him a fear that killed 
The child-joy in his breast ; 

They made for him a shape of dread 
And bade him love it best. 

O Mild, O Just, O Merciful! 

What then shall be their shame- 
These souls who teach a little child 

To shudder at Thy name! 



89 



THE VICTORS 

GOD gives the battle to the strong — 
What were His justice otherwise? 

The valiant heart, the equal brain, 

The fortitude that mocks at pain, 
On these the light victorious lies. 

May I not speak these things — may I not know 

Who hid my face and cowered from the foef 

God gives the battle to the strong — 
His heroes armoured with their might, 

To those undaunted souls who fling 

Light laughter to sore suffering 

And dare to stand, resist and smite. 

Do I not know icho shrank and fell dismayedj 

Anxious and feeble-hearted and afraid? 

God gives the battle to the strong — 

Amen! Amen! And ever thus 
They jubilant sweep on to be 
Crowned and enrobed with victory — 

Strong hearts with courage glorious. 
May not a coward knozv who, grovelling, hears 
Their distant song of triumph in his earsf 



90 



A MORNING 

THE glad, mad wind went singing by, 
The white clouds drove athwart the blue. 

Bold beauty of the morning sky 

And all the world was sun and dew, 

And sweet, cold air wnth sudden glints of gold 

Like spilled stars glowing in the cedars' hold. 

I laughed for very joy of life, 

Oh, thrilling veins, oh, happy heart. 

Of this glad world with beauty rife, 
Exult that we too are a part; 

Rejoice! Rejoice! that miracle of birth 

Gave us this golden heritage of earth. 

Oh, bold, blue sky, oh, keen, glad wind, 

I wonder me if this may be. 
That some day, leaving life behind. 

Our eyes shall view new land, new sea 
So exquisite that, lo, with thrilling breath. 
We shall laugh loud for very joy of death. 



91 



APRIL 

SOMETHING tapped at my window-pane, 
Someone called me without my door, 

Someone laughed like the tinkle o' rain, 
The robin echoed it o'er and o'er. 

I threw the door and the window wide; 

Sun and the touch of the breeze and then — 
** Oh, zvcrc you expecting me, dear? " she cried. 

And here was April come back again. 



^^ 



THE PIPER 

LOUD he piped for them to dance — 
Oh, the gay retreat^ advance, 

Like surging waves that lean and lift 
To know the red star's glance! 

And their bare brown feet's refrain 

Was like patter of the rain 

That thrills in May time through the green 

Where cloistered birds are fain. 

Gay the piper played the zvhile grinned he craftily, 

"Oh, rare and ripe for this I pipe, pay ye must," quoth he. 

Oh, the dancers' eyes were bright 
As a flame in middle night, 

For shrill he piped the lure of life. 
The daring of delight. 

And they tripped it to and fro 

As the light-foot fairies go 

That circle on the greensward 

When a crescent moon dips low. 

Fast the piper played the while grinned he craftily, 

'' For this my tune or late or soon, pay ye must'* quoth he^ 

Oh, the piper's notes were sweet 
As a rose in noontide heat, 

And Love was like the pulse of flame 
That through his measure beat, 
93 



THE PIPER 

Oh, of love his pipings were 
Till the air was all astir 

With fragrance of his music 
Spilled as spikenard and as myrrh. 

Soft the piper piped the while grinned he craftily, 

" For this my best and loveliest pay ye must," quoth he. 

But what time the twilight died 
Oh, he flung his pipes aside. 

And " Sweethearts, now comes reckoning! " 
Grim Time the piper cried. 

" Give me guerdon for my pains, 

Give me payment for my strains. 
Now yield me for your pleasuring 

The price my piping gains." 

'' Nay, but wherewith may we payf " Grinned he craftily, 
" Youth of you and truth of you and joy of you," quoth he. 

Oh, the shrinking forms and bent, 
Oh, the weary feet that went 

Through dust of all regretting 
From the place of merriment ! 

And again the piper blew 

For another madder crew 
In silver of the moonlight 

And the shimmer of the dew. 

Gay the piper played the while grinned he craftily, 
" Yea, good sooth, I pipe for youth and take my pay," 
quoth he. 

94 



THE LIGHTS OF CROYDON 

OH, the lights of Croydon town gleaming through the 

mist — 
On the morn he sailed away both my eyes he kissed ; 

" Look ye well, blue eyes and sweet, look ye well," 
quoth he, 
*' Watch ye from the dunes o' sand when the night 
comes down ; 
When the lights o' Croydon rise like ship-lights on the 
sea 
It's I'll be sailing back to you, oh, back from Croydon 
town. 

Oh, the lights of Croyden town — high they shine and 

bright, 
Like a slender crescent moon curving through the night; 
One by one they fade away when the stars are dead, 
When the lean waves leap to tell names of men they 
drown. 
" Watch ye well, blue eyes and sweet," those the words 
he said — 
Weary watch and long they've kept, oh, lights of Croy- 
don town. 

Oil, the lights of Croydon town — yearning through the 

nights. 
Bird-like has the heart of me beat against j^our lights. 
Dim the eyes that felt his kiss, thin the hair and gray, 

Bent the form that never wore white o' wedding gown. 
" Watch ye well, sweet eyes," quoth he the morn he 
sailed away, 
Who ne'er came sailing back again, oh, lights of Croy- 
don town. 

95 



AT THE DAY'S END 

ALL day among the anxious crowd I pressed, 
All day I strove and bartered with the best, 
All day my feet were busy in the mart — 
Have I not earned my little hour of rest? 

Oh, my beloved, the shelter of your heart/ 
Oh, my beloved, the quiet of your breast/ 

Ere the morn broke Toil called us to arise; 
When the noon fell she drove us tyrant-wise; 

Slow in the twilight died her loud alarms — 
Fain would I turn me to where silence lies. 

Oh, my beloved, the comfort of your arms/ 
Oh, my beloved, the healing of your eyes/ 



As footworn travellers a little space 
Kneel in the shadow of some holy place, 

Too wearied to lament or to rejoice, 
So in your love receive me of your grace. 

Oh, my beloved, the soothing of your voice/ 
Oh, my beloved, the pity of your face/ 



96 



THE FORTUNATE 

PITY me not that I, who am grown old, 
Fold empty hands no other's hands may hold, 
And sit in silence in a silent place 

With never hope to-morrow may redeem, 
Nor joy of yesterdays upon my face. 

Pity me not — for I have had my dream. 

Give me no tears that I, who much desired, 
Failed those far heights to which my life aspired; 
Where joy to seek and ecstasy to gain 

My one star lured and drew me to its beam. 
Oh, you who saw the failure and the pain, 
Pity me not — for I have had my dream. 

Yea, I, whose life is chained to dragging days. 
Have sped my heart through sweet and wondrous 
ways; 
In far, fair lands beyond the day and night, 
On strange, still seas where white moons drift 
and gleam, 
I — I have kissed the lips of my delight. 
Pity me not — for I have had my dream. 

Oh, you with hope fulfilled, that realised 
Seems but a little triumph and unprized ; 
For me a joy more exquisite and fine 

Though life hath led me by a barren stream, 
Though my desire hath been never mine. 
Pity me not — for I have had my dream. 
97 



FIRST LOVE 

*' WHY do you look from the window so, 

Little Felicia, daughter of mine? 
There still is the long white seam to sew 

And the white lambs' wool to spin." 
" Oh, mother, below here in the snow 

Stands a little lad with a mouth like wine — 
A little lad with a carven bow 

And he makes as though he would enter in, 
Mother of mine." 

" Nay — there Is no one there at all, 

Little Felicia, my Idle one; 
Naught I see but the white snow's fall 

And thy task is still the same." 
" Oh, mother, harken, I hear him call, 

' Pray, sweetheart, is the door undone? 
Let me In who am weak and small.' 

May I bid him enter in Pity's name. 
Mother of mine? " 

" Nothing I hear and naught I see. 

Little Felicia, who works so ill ; 
And there's much to do ere darkness be — 

Come daughter, thy task begin." 
But little Felicia blushingly 

Turned away from the window-sill ; 
" Oh, mother, I spake no word," quoth she, 

" But I fear — I fear he hath entered in, 
Mother of mine." 
98 



THE LOSER 

I HAVE gambled away my life — 
Small ventures on that and this, 

A bit of youth for a useless truth, 
A trifle of heart for a kiss. 

Yea, with pitiful stakes and small 

In a crafty game played I ; 
With counters spanned in a careful hand 

When the losses were over high. 

I have gambled away my life — 

A little now and again; 
Oh, bit by bit have I wasted it 

In the fashion of weakling men. 

I have stayed in a coward's game 
With a sickening fear of loss; 

Afraid to play for the joy that lay 
In the fall of the reckless toss. 

I have gambled away my life 

In a puny, cautious game, 
But now, alack, were my treasure back 

I would never play it the same. 

I would stake my all on the throw — 
Mind, soul, yea, all that is I — 

And in fierce content and merriment 
Had waited to live or die. 
99 



THE LOSER 

To live or die like a man 

Heart glad of the chance he had, 

Who shook with Fate for his table mate 
In a glorious bout and mad. 

In a moment to end it so — 
Die beggar or live a king — 

And pay the score be it less or more 
In the hour of the reckoning. 

And to die, if die I must, 

With a heart unswerved, and then 

With face to the sod give thanks to God 
That I played like a man with men. 



THE WINDOW 

THIS is the window where one day 

I watched him as he came, 
When all the world was white with May 

And vibrant with his name. 

His eyes to mine, my ej^es to his — 

Oh, lad, how glad were we 
What time I leaned to catch the kiss 

Your fingers tossed to me! 

This is the window where one day 

I crouched to see him go, 
When all the world with wrath was gray 

And desolate with snow. 

Oh, this the glass where prophet-wise 

My fate I needs must spell; 
Through this I looked on Paradise, 

Through this I looked on Hell. 



zoi 



TRAVESTY 

SURELY I should have seen that flower face, 
Say, in an English lane when Spring was new 
And high, white clouds were drifting in the blue, 

And a glad lark made music in the place; 

Where all about you was no thing more base 
Than the pink hawthorn heavy with its dew, 
And where my man's eyes at the sight of you 

Should drop, unworthy of such maiden grace. 

Oh, child, it should be thus, and yet to-night 
Here in the city's red iniquities 

Strange I should find you in this garish light 
With this hard mocking in your tired eyes 

And curled, red lips set jesting at the sight 
Of a man's wrath at Life's mad comedies. 



102 



THE LITTLE SISTER 

WHEN the days are dreariest, 

When the nights are long, 
Sudden on the creaking stair 

Sounds her careless song; 
Sudden on the darkened sill 

Falls a footstep free 
And the Little Sister comes 

Back again to me. 



Blithe and gay and jubilant, 

All her words a jest, 
Laughter on her merry lips, 

Youth upon her breast, 
Happy dreams within her eyes 

Daring days to be, 
So the Little Sister comes 

Back again to me. 



And she hath the eyes I had 

When the world was new. 
And she hath the heart I had 

When the world was true; 
And my very name she bears- 

Ah, so close our tie! — 
Just the Little Sister now 

Who one day was L 
103 



THE LITTLE SISTER 

Strange that she who knew no tears 

So my tears should wake; 
Strange her very happiness 

My own heart should break. 
Oh, so other than myself, 

Two, yet one are we, 
Little Sister of my age 

Comes she back to me. 



Not a wistful ghost she comes — 

Better so, perchance — 
But with lips too fain to sing, 

Feet too fain to dance. 
And I turn my eyes from her 

(Eyes she must not see) 
When the Little Sister comes 

Back again to me. 



104 



THE GOD OF CLAY 

I WATCH each day my singing sisters go 
LIghtfooted to the temple on the height, 

Bearing fair gifts, trailed blooms of rose and snow 
To please the golden gods of their delight. 

The golden gods that, In their lofty place, 
Stand In their flawless might for all to see, 

Bearing each one upon his perfect face 
The pride of his Infallibility. 

And ever on their way and singing thus 

They pause sometimes to urge me or deride, 

" Oh sister, wilt thou never come with us 

To worship where the gods of gold abide? " 

They never know that ere they pass the gates 
Of bronze and Ivory, I take my way 

To where. In his unlighted darkness, waits 
My desecrated, shattered god of clay. 

Before their golden gods my sisters cast 

Their fleeting blooms, the gladness of their years; 

I bear to my degraded god this last 
Great gift of silence and of awful tears. 



105 



WHEN WOFFINGTON SOLD WATER-CRESS 

WHEN Woffington sold water-cress, 
Crying her wareings up and down 
The narrow streets of Dublin town, 

I wonder did no passer guess 

The spirit in the dingy dress, 

The heart beneath the tattered gown? 

Did not the eyes' audacious brown 
Speak Harry Wildair's recklessness — 

Whispered no prescience of renown — 
When Woffington sold water-cress? 

Nay, blind we are as in those days 
The folk of Dublin who went by; 
Perchance, this moment you and I 
Have passed upon our several ways 
The little lass whom future praise 
Shall hail as some divinity. 

To-morrow — and we swell the cry — 
To-day — we pass, nor pause nor gaze; 

They stayed you, Peggy, but to buy, 
And blind we are as in those days. 

Child, is it you will tvear the bays, 
You who will win the world's caress? 

Nay, blind we are as in those days 

When Woffington sold water-cress^ 



io6 



'TONIO 

I PLAYED all day — the other children worked 
Hard In the vineyard, and my father said, 
" Hungry to-night shall 'Tonio go to bed! " 

And scolded. Where I hid I heard his words 
And laughed and ran ; the leaves were gold and red 
And the wind whirled them through the woods 
like birds. 

All day I played — the sun and wind and I ; 
Between the trees and up and down the hill; 
And the noon came and It was still, so still; 

And I stretched out full-length upon the grass 
And watched the clouds like white sails reach and 
fill 
And catch the sun for freight, and drift and pass. 

I played all day. Oh, It was good to think 

How hard my brothers worked while I went free. 
" Hungry to-night goes 'Tonio," so said he; 

But I danced on the hill-top with the moon — 
A great red moon that came up merrily 

And called the wind to pipe us both a tune. 

" Hungry to-night shall 'Tonio go to bed! " 
Ah well, to-morrow I shall work and eat 
And go to bed with aching hands and feet, 

And sleep as oxen sleep that plow all day; 
To-night I shall sleep hungry but dream sweet — 
I wish that I could always starve and play. 
107 



THE QUEEN'S SONG 

THIS is the song the King Cophetua 

Heard 'neath her casement, as the morning broke 
And the white dawn came rolling in like smoke 

From altars where the priestly sun hath sway. 

These are the words the King Cophetua 

Heard all his life time sound through jest and song, 
Thrill through his dreaming when the nights were 
long, 

And make a mirthless melody of day. 

The song he held as some red w^ound that stirs 
Forever in the torn breast where it lies, 
That tortured life and made, at last, the eyes 

Of very death seem lovelier than hers. 

*' Soft is the King's white hand as down. 

Feeble his arms as silken thong; 
Oh, but the gypsy's face was brown. 

The gypsy's arms were strong! 

" His eyes were bluer than the day, 

Purple with shadows as the night; 
The open earth was ours to stray — 

The highways of delight. 

** "We were the comrades of the sun. 

Brother and sister of the rain; 
And high, white moon when day was done 

Claimed us as mates again. 
io8 



THE QUEEN'S SONG 

'* My hair the wayside rose might bind, 
Its thorn my tattered gown could hold ; 

We were the playmates of the w^ind, 
The comrades of the wold. 

*' Fair feasts he gained from brook and tree- 
He fed my heart a food divine; 

The words of him were bread to me, 
His kisses were as wine. 

"In the gold garden of the sun 
All day our joy went singing thus. 

And night by night the witch moon spun 
Her white tent over us. 

" A beggar lass and lover bold. 
Ragged our raiment as was meet, 

But our love walked in cloth of gold 
And golden shod his feet. 



" Why should a king's eyes know me fair? 

Why should a king's eyes find me good? 
Why should a king's will bid me bear 

Weight of his kinglihood? 

" Across the crowd my eyes caught his, 
Across the crowd he came to me. 

Strange coloured as a great wave is. 
Resistless as the sea. 
109 



THE QUEEN'S SONG 

He raised my face to meet his gaze, 
His fingers lingered in my hair; 
His smile beat down my hot amaze, 
And left white terror there. 

** The gypsy's hand fell cold from mine 

What time the King's hand touched my own; 

Slow-stepped along the shouting line, 
He drew me to the throne. 

" They brought me royal robes to wear, 
They gave me curious food and sweet; 

They bound red jewels in my hair, 
White samite on my feet. 

" Beggar and King we knelt to priest — 
The censers swung, the heralds cried; 

High-throned they served us at the feast — 
A Queen at a King's side. 

" Strange that a great Queen needs must keep 

A beggar's heart within her breast; 
Strange, when a Queen lies down to sleep, 

A beggar's dreams mock rest. 

" Strange that a great Queen's thought must creep 

Down dusty highways of old years; 
Strange that a Queen's cold eyes should weep 

A beggar's burning tears. 



THE QUEEN'S SONG 

** I — only I — the truth may know, 

Beggar and bound, who once had been 

Free of the wind and sun and snow, 
Of very love the Queen. 

" What though I go In cloth of gold. 
What though my bread is fine and sweet, 

When Love stands starving in the cold. 
With naked hands and feet! 



" Soft the King's eyes and dull of mien, 
Cold the King's face as one long dead. 

Oh, but the gypsy's eyes were keen. 
The gypsy's lips were red ! 

" We were the comrades of the air. 

Brother and sister to the wood. 
Why should a King's eyes know me fair, 

A King's eyes find me good ? " 

This is the song the King Cophetua 

Heard ^neath her casement as the morning broke. 



THE LOST HERITAGE 

THE close companionship of earth, 

Its tenderness and might, 
These things were ours by blood and birth, 

By heritage and right. 

We were born brothers to the wood 

And in our veins there ran 
That fire of joy and hardihood 

That is the blood of Pan. 

The language of the leaves was ours 

And ours the kindred tie 
That told us in the lightless hours 

What strange, wild mate went by. 

Yet, brothers of our heritage, 

What is there left to-day? 
We sold it for a petty wage. 

For servitude and pay. 

Stone upon stone our cities grow 
Mask-like on earth's shamed face; 

We cause our kindred's overthrow 
To build our hinds a place. 

Crowded and cringing and content 
We cry from mart and door, 

" Behold the pottage excellent 
We sold our birthright for! " 

112 



THE LOST HERITAGE 

We have forgotten day by day 

That once we walked elate, 
How all majestic was our sway, 

How mighty our estate. 

This be our shame — to doubt their worth 

Who one day understood 
The close companionship of earth, 

The high hills' brotherhood. 



THE DAY'S END 

SURELY our time of love was as a day — 

Faint dawn-break and the noon's fierce flush of light, 

And twilight, like a witch-bloom, strange and gray. 
Unfolding to the night. 

Faint dawn-break — how we watched it, you and I ; 

First through the mist a soaring bird-note sprung, 
A colour caught in crimson on the sky, 

And our hands clasped and clung. 

And there was sudden dawning in your eyes — 
A prescience of the wonders that would be 

When the veiled heart of you should thrill and rise 
Of all disguise made free. 

The hour of noon — ah, swTet, how swift it came ! 

The full sun and the silence, when we two 
Saw Love revealed and through his eyes of flame 

Looked, understood — and knew. 

In the white light, the shadowless vast space, 
What could be held or hidden, each from each? 

Oh, as my lips were still upon your face. 
Our souls were loud with speech. 

^ TJ? ^ tIC V 

How long ago it was — since shadow-wise 

Spread the slow twilight through the darkling land. 

And weariness is heavy in your eyes 
And In your listless hand. 
114 



THE DAY'S END 

And sombre with the warning of the night 
The ragged cloud edge drags upon the hill ; 

And in your voice there wakes a note of fright 
And wan your face and chill. 

Love and day die, yet have we known their best. 

Once more your lips — nay, look and laugh and lean; 
See where the one rift burns across the West 

To show that day has been. 



"5 



THE WANDERLUST 

OH, the voice came again when the fields were bare for 
sowing — • 
A-whlspering, a-whispering, it never gave me rest, 
" Oh, lad, the world is white with Spring, Oh, lad, be up 
and going — 
Down the wide road, the free road that stretches to the 
West." 

I looked a-down the wide road and I was fain to go; 

I looked into a stranger's eyes and I was fain to stay; 
But still the whisper burned like flame that flickers to and 
fro, 
" There's much to see and much to find, away, my lad, 
away! " 

Oh, the voice came again when the grain was in the grow- 
ing— 
A-crying and a-crying, it followed where I went, 
" Oh, lad, the Summer trails are clear. Oh, lad, be up and 
going- 
Through the far way, the green way, the way of all con- 
tent." 

I looked upon the far trail and I was fain to go ; 

I looked within my sweetheart's eyes and fain to stay 
was I; 
But still the voice kept pace with me a-down the blossomed 
row, 
" There's much to see and much to find, oh, lad, before 
you die." 

ii6 



THE WANDERLUST 

Oh, the voice comes again when the fields are ripe for mow- 
ing— 
A-clamouring, a-clamouring, I may not choose but heed, 
" Oh, lad, the keen wind fills the sails. Oh, lad, be up and 
going— 
The unplumbed seas, the unfound lands are waiting on 
your speed." 

I look across the wondrous world — I may not choose but 
go; 
I kiss my wife upon her mouth nor make her prayers 
reply ; 
Oh, voice that is the soul of me, I follow high or low — 
There's much to see and much to find — good-bye, my 
sweet, good-bye. 



"7 



/ HEARD A VOICE 

I HEARD a voice in the darkness singing 

(That was a valiant soul I knew) 
And the joy of his song was a wild bird winging 

Swift to his mate through a sky of blue. 

Myself — I sang when the dawn was flinging 
Wide his guerdon of fire and dew; 

I heard a voice in the darkness singing 
(That was a valiant soul I knew). 



And his song was of love and all its bringing 
And of certain day when the night was through; 

I raised my eyes where the hope was springing 

And I think in His Heaven God smiled too. 

I heard a voice in the darkness singing 
(That was a valiant soul I knew). 



ii8 



ON TYBURN HILL 

ON Tyburn Hill on hanging day 
Cut-throat and thief and gallant stay; 
Noble and dandy, sober cit, 
Mercer and draper, fop and wit, 
And chattering belle in fine array. 

My Lady's coach obstructs the way — 
Gilt cupids on its panels flit; 
And languishing doth Beauty sit 
On Tyburn Hill. 

"A highwayman is hanged," they say; 

My Lady smiles, *' 'Tis like a play." 
" Lud! Lud! A proper man and fit." 
" 'Tis hoped he'll make a fight of it." 

These be the passing prayers men pray 
On Tyburn Hill. 



119 



MAY FLOWERS 

MAY flowers on the city street — 
A keen-faced vendor sells, with eyes 
Fitted for coarser merchandise 

Than these pathetic bits of sweet 
That breathe of vague simplicities. 



May flowers on the city street — 
Here where the tide of traffic roars 
Against its narrow, crowded shores 

Where men go by with hurrying feet 
And barter swings its thousand doors. 



May flowers on the city street — 

Why, 'tis as though the young-eyed Spring 
Herself had come — an artless thing, 

A country lass, demure and neat — 
To smile upon us wondering. 



May flowers on the city street — 
Pink and white poetry abloom 
Here in this clamor, crush and gloom — 

A home thought in the battle's heat, 
A love-song in a sunless room. 



120 



MAY FLOWERS 

May flowers on the city street — 
For one poor coin behold I buy 
Springtime and youth and poetry, 

E'en in this sordid mart unmeet 
So many miles from Arcady. 



121 



CONTRAST 

BECAUSE mine eyes were lifted high 
They lost what time they won; 

I might have loved the moon if I 
Had never seen the sun. 

Had I not heard the crash and scream 

Of great waves on a sea, 
The prattle of a brook might seem 

A wondrous threnody. 

I may not tell if God hath blessed 
Or banned me In this wise; 

Because one day I knew the best 
No lesser thing I prize. 

Ah well, the little joys go by — 

I smile remembering 
I might have loved the clown if I 

Had never seen the king. 



122 



A DREAM OF THESSALY 

OH, Summer that my sad eyes may not see, 

I yearn for you within the city gate; 

Through heat and dust and din, I, desolate. 

Long for your miracles of bloom and tree. 

Your soft, slow winds and wide sea's mystery. 

Ah me, to be a pagan girl elate, 

Free-limbed, loose-haired, with dreaming eyes, await. 

Deep in the purple woods of Thessaly, 

To hear a rustle through the river weeds 

And sudden note of laughter, shrill and gay, 

And, through the rifts of sunshine, look on this; 

The great god Pan with hand upon the reeds, 

Wet lilies in his long hair's disarray. 

And lips up-pursed to catch a naiad's kiss. 



MS 



THE GOD-GHOST 

I KNOW that Pan Is dead, yet now 

Along the river's darkling edge 

I saw the slender, silver sedge 
As 'neath a fleeting footstep bow; 

And this red lily from its stem 

Snapped suddenly and broke and fell 
What time some hand invisible 

Stirred through the myriad blooms of them. 

And there I saw the river break 
In gentle ripples, circling wide 
As though some long dead naiad sighed 

Beneath it for old loving's sake. 

And fain would rise again and greet 
Her goat-hoofed lover as he came 
Beneath the clustered trees, aflame 

To pipe his longing at her feet; 

Where black against the rising moon 

The mad Bacchante's wine-splashed crew 
Hailed them as mates of theirs and drew 

Them captive by the wide lagoon. 

I know that Pan Is dead — I know 
In what strange fashion was his death. 
And how amazement gripped his breath 

Who fell before an unknown foe, 

124 



THE GOD-GHOST 

What time across the trembling green, 
Against the veiled and quaking sun, 
Sounded from Calvary that one 

Torn death-cry of the Nazarene. 

I know that Pan is dead — his host 
Are as blov^^n leaves the winds abhor; 
Yet who shall say that nevermore 

Walks upon earth his homeless ghost? 

Where else were place for him, who hath 
No soul to whine at Heaven's gate; 
No soul to crush beneath the weight 

Of Lucifer's exquisite wrath? 

Goat-hoofed, earth-smeared he may not climb 
Where those great gods, who mocked their fall, 
Sit in a silence cynical 

Awaiting their appointed time. 

Only for him the earth — the earth 
That was his mother and his spouse; 
Who hailed him royal in her house 

And waited on his love and mirth. 

Wherefore he comes to her again 

In the green silences — I know; 

To-night I watched her forests glow 
And felt her blissful tears of rain. 

"5 



THE GOD-GHOST 

Behold, great Pan is here — for hark! 
Not that the river's murmurings 
Or moon-awakened bird that flings 

A note of gold against the dark. 

Hark! — for to-night the ghost of Pan 
Shrills from his slender river-rods 
The mockery that is a god's, 

The suffering that is of man. 

Man's wailing sense of impotence. 
The protest of the bruised clods, 
Meet with the note that shows a god's 

Contemptuous indifference. 

^ ^ ^ yk ^ 

My thoughts are tangled in the strain. 

Not mine to trace their wildered thread; 

I only know that Pan is dead, 
I only know he lives again. 

And so will live until down hurled 
Creation crashes from its course. 
And some malignant, maddened force 

Shrieks as it views what was a world. 



126 



A SONG OF KAMAL 

HE who is desolate may cry 
His sorrow to the earth and sky. 

Who has lost all has naught to fear; 
Haply, the gods may laugh to hear, 

Rejoicing that man's discontent 
Should flavour their grim merriment. 

We who are happy, you and I, 
Must laugh low and walk silently 

Lest we shall taste what gall may be 
Wrapped in the great gods' jealousy. 

Who, envious of man's delight, 

Lean from their hills to strike and blight. 

Let us kiss softly and laugh low 
Lest they should know. 



127 



THE IRISH HEART 

{To S. IV. P.) 



THE DAUGHTER 

IT'S not myself I'm grieving for, it's not that I'm complain- 
ing, 
(He's a good man, is Michael, and I've never felt his 
frown) 
But there's sorrow^ beating on me like a long day's raining 
For the little wrinkled face of her I left in Kerrydown. 

(It's just Herself I'm longing for. Herself and no other — 

Do you mind the morns we walked to mass when all the 

fields were green ? 

'Twas I that pinned your kerchief, oh, me mother, mother, 

mother! 

The wide seas, the cruel seas and half the world between.) 

'Tis the man's part to say the word, the wife's to up and 
follow — 
(It's a fair land we've come to and there's plenty here for 
all) 
And 'tis not the homesick longing that lures me like a 
swallow 
But the one voice across the world that draws me to its 
call. 

(It's just Herself I'm longing for. Herself and no other — 
Do you mind the tales you told me when the turf was 
blazing bright? 
Me head upon your shoulder, oh, me mother, mother, 
mother — • 
The broad seas between us and yourself alone to-night!) 

131 



THE DAUGHTER 

There's decent neighbours all about, there's coming and 
there's going; 

It's kind souls will be about me when the little one is here ; 
But it's her word I'm wanting, her comfort I'd be knowing, 

And her blessing on the two of us to drive away the fear. 

(It's just Herself I'm longing for, Herself and no other — 
Do you mind the soft Spring mornings when you stitched 
the wedding-gown? 

The little, careful stitches, Oh, me mother, mother, mother, 
Meself bej'ond the broad seas and you in Kerrydown!) 



132 



THE CRUEL NAME 

THAT was a cruel name, my lad, you gave me when we 
parted. 
The four winds caught the sound of It and threw it to the 
world ; 
There's never breaking twig or leaf nor any echo started 
But sends it back to me again, an evil stone new hurled. 

That was another name I had, a fair name and dear to me. 
(Mind you how the Summer noon closed blue about the 
hill?) 
Both my hands within your own, your keen face near to me, 
The gold o' sun and scent o' earth — Oh, warm and sweet 
and still! 

That was a cruel name, my lad, you gave me at your turning. 

The very stones you trod on cried it to me as you went, 
And every breeze and every bird was over quick in learning — 

'Tis blown to me, 'tis sung to me till all my heart is rent. 

That was another name I had, a fair name and dear to me. 
(Mind you how the lazy sheep stood white against the 
sky?) 
Both my hands within your own, your keen face near to 
me — 
Oh, lad, I'm praying 'tis that name that Death will call 
me by. 



*33 



OMENS 

WHY do you tremble, Asthore, Asthore, 
Here In the arms of your lover? 

That was never a footstep on the floor — 

'Twas the fall of a leaf and nothing more. 

(Oh, a withered leaf blown In at the door 
To tell us Summer is over.) 

Pulse of my soul, and why do you start? 

Come near to the great logs burning. 
They flame like love at a strong man's heart- 
A desire, a fire, a bliss — a smart. 
(Oh, fierce they burn till they drop apart. 

All, all to the ashes turning.) 

Core of my heart, why listen and wait? 

That call? 'Twas a wild bird's crying — 
Naught but a bird that nests too late, 
A wildered bird that beats at the gate. 
(Oh, a bird in the night that seeks Its mate, 
Bleeding and lost and dying.) 



X34 



WHEN THE LAD COMES BACK 

OH, it's he that's comin' back again — I've got the letter 
read — ■ 
(Oh, Mary, send the sea be smooth and see the ship be 
sound!) 
He's comin' from America, me fine, black, curly head. 

And I thought before this day would dawn 'twas I'd be 
under ground. 
I'm laughin' like and cryin' like and never stroke I do — 
The neighbours troopin' through the door have left me 
green a track; 
It's " Good mornin', Mary Murphy. It's great news we 
have of you — ■ 
You'll be the proud old woman when the lad comes 
back." 

The little, barefoot, bold gossoon, he's comin' back again — 
(Oh, lad, I almost raised the keen the day I watched you 
go.) ^ 
And he's comin' back a six-foot man to me that's like a 
wren, 
With pound notes in the hand of him and linen like the 
snow. 
It's I've put out his father's chair and scrubbed it till it 
shone. 
And his father's pipe (God save us!) lying filled upon the 
rack; 
There'll be no poor widow woman sittin' here at night 
alone 
And crying in her tea-cup when the lad comes back. 

135 



WHEN THE LAD COMES BACK 

Vm sleepin' none and eatin' none and countin' up the days — 
(Oh, just to hear the foot of him come soundin' on the 
floor!) 
I'm shakin' with the joy of it, to set the turf ablaze, 

And lay the table decent and be waitin' at the door. 
Oh, it's I'm the old fool woman, but it's this I'm bold to do; 
It's twenty years come Hallowmas I'm walkin' in the 
black, 
And I've bought meself a kerchief and the colour of it's 

blue, 
(Sure Himself would never mind it) when the lad comes 
back. 



136 



MAY FLOWERS 

May flowers on the city street — 
For one poor coin behold I buy 
Springtime and youth and poetry, 

E'en in this sordid mart unmeet 
So many miles from Arcady. 



121 



CONTRAST 

BECAUSE mine eyes were lifted high 
They lost what time they won; 

I might have loved the moon if I 
Had never seen the sun. 

Had I not heard the crash and scream 

Of great waves on a sea, 
The prattle of a brook might seem 

A wondrous threnody. 

I may not tell if God hath blessed 
Or banned me in this wise; 

Because one day I knew the best 
No lesser thing I prize. 

Ah well, the little joys go by — 

I smile remembering 
I might have loved the clown if I 

Had never seen the king. 



122 



A DREAM OF THESSALY 

OH, Summer that my sad eyes may not see, 

I yearn for you within the city gate; 

Through heat and dust and din, I, desolate, 

Long for your miracles of bloom and tree. 

Your soft, slow winds and wide sea's mystery. 

Ah me, to be a pagan girl elate, 

Free-limbed, loose-haired, with dreaming eyes, await. 

Deep in the purple woods of Thessaly, 

To hear a rustle through the river weeds 

And sudden note of laughter, shrill and gay. 

And, through the rifts of sunshine, look on this; 

The great god Pan with hand upon the reeds, 

Wet lilies in his long hair's disarray, 

And lips up-pursed to catch a naiad's kiss. 



133 



THE GOD-GHOST 

I KNOW that Pan is dead, ^^t now 

Along the river's darkling edge 

I saw the slender, silver sedge 
As 'neath a fleeting footstep bow; 

And this red lily from its stem 

Snapped suddenly and broke and fell 
What time some hand invisible 

Stirred through the myriad blooms of them. 

And there I saw the river break 
In gentle ripples, circling wide 
As though some long dead naiad sighed 

Beneath it for old loving's sake. 

And fain would rise again and greet 
Her goat-hoofed lover as he came 
Beneath the clustered trees, aflame 

To pipe his longing at her feet; 

Where black against the rising moon 

The mad Bacchante's wine-splashed crew 
Hailed them as mates of theirs and drew 

Them captive by the wide lagoon. 

I know that Pan is dead — I know 
In what strange fashion was his death, 
And how amazement gripped his breath 

Who fell before an unknown foe, 

124 



THE GOD-GHOST 

What time across the trembling green, 
Against the veiled and quaking sun, 
Sounded from Calvary that one 

Torn death-cry of the Nazarene. 

I know^ that Pan is dead — his host 
Are as blown leaves the winds abhor; 
Yet who shall say that nevermore 

Walks upon earth his homeless ghost? 

Where else were place for him, who hath 
No soul to whine at Heaven's gate ; 
No soul to crush beneath the weight 

Of Lucifer's exquisite wrath? 

Goat-hoofed, earth-smeared he may not climb 
Where those great gods, who mocked their fall, 
Sit in a silence cynical 

Awaiting their appointed time. 

Only for him the earth — the earth 
That was his mother and his spouse; 
Who hailed him royal in her house 

And waited on his love and mirth. 

Wherefore he comes to her again 

In the green silences — I know; 

To-night I watched her forests glow 
And felt her blissful tears of rain. 

125 



THE GOD-GHOST 

Behold, great Pan Is here — for hark! 
Not that the river's murmurlngs 
Or moon-awakened bird that flings 

A note of gold against the dark. 

Hark! — for to-night the ghost of Pan 
Shrills from his slender river-rods 
The mockery that Is a god's, 

The suffering that Is of man. 

Man's w^alllng sense of Impotence, 
The protest of the bruised clods, 
Meet with the note that shows a god's 

Contemptuous Indifference. 

yf^ "^ y^ yp! v^ 

My thoughts are tangled In the strain. 

Not mine to trace their wUdered thread; 

I only know that Pan Is dead, 
I only know he lives again. 

And so win live until down hurled 
Creation crashes from Its course. 
And some malignant, maddened force 

Shrieks as It views what was a world. 



126 



A SONG OF KAMAL 

HE who is desolate may cry 
His sorrow to the earth and sky. 

Who has lost all has naught to fear; 
Haply, the gods may laugh to hear, 

Rejoicing that man's discontent 
Should flavour their grim merriment. 

We who are happy, you and I, 
Must laugh low and walk silently 

Lest we shall taste what gall may be 
Wrapped in the great gods' jealousy. 

Who, envious of man's delight, 

Lean from their hills to strike and blight. 

Let us kiss softly and laugh low 
Lest they should know. 



127 



THE IRISH HEART 

(To S. IV. P.) 



THE DAUGHTER 

IT'S not myself I'm grieving for, it's not that I'm complain- 
ing, 
(He's a good man, is Michael, and I've never felt his 
frown) 
But there's sorrow beating on me like a long day's raining 
For the little wrinkled face of her I left in Kerrydown. 

(It's just Herself I'm longing for. Herself and no other — 

Do you mind the morns we walked to mass when all the 

fields were green? 

'Twas I that pinned your kerchief, oh, me mother, mother, 

mother ! 

The wide seas, the cruel seas and half the world between.) 

'Tis the man's part to say the word, the wife's to up and 
follow — 
(It's a fair land we've come to and there's plenty here for 
all) 
And 'tis not the homesick longing that lures me like a 
swallow 
But the one voice across the world that draws me to its 
call. 

(It's just Herself I'm longing for, Herself and no other — 
Do you mind the tales you told me when the turf was 
blazing bright? 
Me head upon your shoulder, oh, me mother, mother, 
mother — ■ 
The broad seas between us and yourself alone to-night!) 

131 



THE DAUGHTER 

There's decent neighbours all about, there's coming and 
there's going; 

It's kind souls will be about me when the little one is here ; 
But it's her word I'm wanting, her comfort I'd be knowing, 

And her blessing on the two of us to drive away the fear. 

(It's just Herself I'm longing for. Herself and no other — 
Do you mind the soft Spring mornings when you stitched 
the wedding-gown? 

The little, careful stitches. Oh, me mother, mother, mother, 
Meself beyond the broad seas and you in Kerrydown!) 



132 



THE CRUEL NAME 

THAT was a cruel name, my lad, you gave me when we 
parted. 
The four winds caught the sound of it and threw it to the 
world ; 
There's never breaking twig or leaf nor any echo started 
But sends it back to me again, an evil stone new hurled. 

That was another name I had, a fair name and dear to me. 
(Mind you how the Summer noon closed blue about the 
hill?) 
Both my hands within your own, your keen face near to me, 
The gold o' sun and scent o' earth — Oh, warm and sweet 
and still! 

That was a cruel name, my lad, you gave me at your turning. 

The very stones you trod on cried it to me as you went, 
And every breeze and every bird was over quick in learning — 

'Tis blown to me, 'tis sung to me till all my heart is rent. 

That was another name I had, a fair name and dear to me. 
(Mind you how the lazy sheep stood white against the 
sky?) 
Both my hands within your own, your keen face near to 
me — - 
Oh, lad, I'm praying 'tis that name that Death will call 
me by. 



133 



OMENS 

WHY do you tremble, Asthore, Asthore, 
Here in the arms of your lover? 

That was never a footstep on the floor — 

'Twas the fall of a leaf and nothing more. 

(Oh, a withered leaf blown in at the door 
To tell us Summer is over.) 

Pulse of my soul, and why do you start? 

Come near to the great logs burning. 
They flame like love at a strong man's heart- 
A desire, a fire, a bliss — a smart. 
(Oh, fierce they burn till they drop apart, 

All, all to the ashes turning.) 

Core of my heart, why listen and wait? 

That call ? 'Twas a wild bird's crying — 
Naught but a bird that nests too late, 
A wildered bird that beats at the gate. 
(Oh, a bird in the night that seeks its mate, 
Bleeding and lost and dying.) 



134 



WHEN THE LAD COMES BACK 

OH, it's he that's comin' back again — I've got the letter 
read — • 
(Oh, Mary, send the sea be smooth and see the ship be 
sound!) 
He's comin' from America, me fine, black, curly head, 

And I thought before this day would dawn 'twas I'd be 
under ground. 
I'm laughln' like and cryin' like and never stroke I do — 
The neighbours troopin' through the door have left me 
green a track; 
It's " Good mornin', Mary Murphy. It's great news we 
have of you — 
You'll be the proud old woman when the lad comes 
back." 

The little, barefoot, bold gossoon, he's comin' back again — 
(Oh, lad, I almost raised the keen the day I watched you 

go.) 
And he's comin' back a six-foot m.an to me that's like a 
wren, 
With pound notes in the hand of him and linen like the 
snow. 
It's I've put out his father's chair and scrubbed it till it 
shone. 
And his father's pipe (God save us!) lying filled upon the 
rack; 
There'll be no poor widow woman sittin' here at night 
alone 
And crying in her tea-cup when the lad comes back. 

135 



WHEN THE LAD COMES BACK 

I'm sleepin' none and eatin' none and countin' up the days — 
(Oh, just to hear the foot of him come soundin' on the 
floor!) 
I'm shakin' with the joy of it, to set the turf ablaze, 

And lay the table decent and be waitin' at the door. 
Oh, it's I'm the old fool woman, but it's this I'm bold to do; 
It's twenty years come Hallowmas I'm walkin' in the 
black, 
And I've bought meself a kerchief and the colour of it's 

blue, 
(Sure Himself would never mind it) when the lad comes 
back. 



136 



A SPRING SONG 

IT'S myself that is sick for the Winter's breaking, 
It's myself that is sad for the April's waking — 

('Tis the thought that I'm thinking the whole day long, 
'TIs the dream that I dream by night.) 
When all the green of the grass is growing 
And all the bloom of the blossoms blowing. 
And the world will be all in white, Asthore, 
The world will be all in white. 

And it's oh, for the blue of the April weather. 
And the morn when the two of us walk together — 
('Tis the thought I'm thinking the whole day long, 
'Tis the dream that I dream by night.) 
With all the birds in the parish singing, 
And all the bells in the chapel ringing. 
And yourself will be all in white, Asthore, 
And yourself will be all In white. 



137 



DANNY 

IT was on a Hallowmas 

Me boy sailed out, 
Flags a-snapping in the breeze, 

The gay crowd all about, 
And the little waves a-play, 

And the white ship in the bay. 
The music and the shoutin' — 

Like the skirlin' of the storm. 
And Danny, Oh, me Danny, 

In his brand new uniform! 
The kissin' and the cheerin' 

And the last long shout! 
It was on a Hallowmas 

Himself sailed out. 

It was Holy Saturday 

Me boy came back : 
Oh, the creepin', sullen ship 

With the gray wake in its track; 
And the flag a-droopin' low 

Over them that laid below; 
The women sobbin' on the dock — 

Oh, Mary, heed the cry! 
An' the little child that trembled 

When the long black things went by. 
Oh, Danny, is it home you've come. 

And me here in the black! 
It was Holy Saturday 

Himself came back. 
138 



THE CALL OF HOME 

I'M the old tired woman now, for all that work is done — 

I sit here in me daughter's house as any lady might; 
It's *' Take your ease, old woman dear," from each and 
every one 
And willin' hands to wait on mine from morning until 
night. 

But I have the longing on me that is heavier than tears 

{Though themselves could never know it from any word I 

say) 
It's half the way across the world that I would be the day 

And back in me own father s house Fve left these fifty years, 

'Tis not that I'm not happy here who's living like a queen — 

The children's children at me knee, I'd not be leaving 

these ; 

'Tis never any word that's come across the miles between — 

For aught I know the parish's self is crumblin' to the seas. 

But I have the longing on me that is heavier than tears — 
" Oh, take your ease, old woman dear'' 'tis well for thetn 

to say; 
'Tis just the little wild colleen I'd be again to-day 

And back in me own father's house I've left these fifty years. 

And to think I left it laughin' with a true lad's hand in 
mine — 
The lips that kissed me goin'. Oh, 'tis long that they've 
been cold; 
And brief the sorrow that I had that never gave me sign 
That need of it would tear the heart the day that saw me 
old. 

139 



THE CALL OF HOME 

But I have the longing on me — Oh, Uis well me own time 
nears — • 
Since Fm waiting like a stranger here with those I love 

the best. 
It's " Take your ease, old lady dear'' hut Oh, 'tis there Fd 
rest, 
Once hack in me own father's house Fve left these fifty years. 



140 



THE KING'S CHAMBER 



THE KING'S CHAMBER 

IN the King's chamber are strange things 
Wrought of fine gold and ivories, 
And carven chests from over seas, 

And cabinets of gauds and rings; 

And the great bed that is the King's 
Is hung with purple, gold entraced, 
And a deep mirror, many-faced, 

From silver chains reflects and swings. 

Two windows are open to the West; 
Between them, on its braconette. 
Sits a strange bird with eyes of jet 

And blurs of colour on its breast; 

And on the wall, an honoured guest, 
A portrait hangs — of one whose eyes 
Grow into mine with proud surprise 

That fain would fright me from my quest. 

And in the niche a dim light glows 

Like that white flame that guards the pyx, 

And paints the ebon crucifix 
And Christ's contorted form, and throws 
A shade as black as human woes 

That cross-formed, wavers on the wall, 

As if His image still let fall 
Shadow of warning on His foes. 

Downstairs the feast goes on; the floors 
Echo the clang of oath and song. 
Methinks it taketh over-long 

For men to prate of love and wars. 
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THE KING'S CHAMBER 

In the King's chamber are closed doors, 

And in the gloom I stand apart 

Until that step which treads my heart 
Sounds through the winding corridors. 

Love, who hath cast out fear, behold 

Thy handiwork, how good it is! 

This mouth that hath not known a kiss. 
This hair that wraps me fold on fold! 
But yestermonth, if one had told 

Their beauty, I had mocked ; to-night 

They are my coin to buy delight — 
My mouth, my eyes, my arms are gold ! 

But yestermonth I came — a child 

New to court jests and flatteries, 

With shame-dyed blushes for men's lies. 
And proud, bright eyes that seldom smiled; 
And when one laughed, "The King, beguiled. 

Stays long in France — a wanton's eye 

Seems thong to hold a monarch by," 
I frowned and thought my ears defiled. 

Then came a certain day — ^we played 

At cards ; within the sun's red ring 

Earth, as a fruit, lay ripening, 
And in our arbour was small shade. 
Then laughter, at a word, was stayed: 

" Sweethearts, will give no welcoming? " 

And one 'mazed girl's voice shrilled, "The King 
And I stood trembling and afraid. 
144 



THE KING'S CHAMBER 

Then someone spake my name; In one 
Swift moment's space I raised mine eyes 
To meet his smile's soft mockeries, 

And in that glance was life begun. 

Meseemed the earth reeled, and the sun 
Leaped at my heart as some great flame, 
Or yet his mouth had formed my name, 

Or touch of lips on hand was done. 

Oh, but the King is kingliest 

Of all live men, strong-armed and fair 

And beautiful as Lucifer 
When God had claimed him as his best ; 
But the King's eyes, when his lips jest. 

Are weariest of all sad things. 

And ever in his laugh there rings 
The broken accents of unrest. 

I, who am noblest born of all 

The damosels who grace his court, 
And lend gay presence to his sport 

At tourney and at festival; 

I who move proudly in his hall, 

With high, proud eyes, feel at my heart 
The mighty passion throb and smart 

That holds my very life In thrall. 

Yet pride and shame had kept my blood 
From turning fire, to make the gay 
Sport of the gossip's holiday. 

And I had held to what I would; 
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THE KING'S CHAMBER 

But at the mass to-day he stood 

Full-eyed upon no other than 

That exquisite white courtesan 
Whose slow smile sneers at maidenhood. 

She whom Grammont hath brought from France, 
To win him favours from the King 
(So runs the tale) — I saw her fling 

A look like some flame-pointed lance 

Swift in his eyes, and, as by chance, 

He leaned, pressed closer, smiled ; and then 
My throat choked on the priest's "Amen " 

And my eyes dizzied in their glance. 

Could I have given strength to hate 

She would have fallen in her place. 

Prone on her fair, accursed face, 
That wears too many smiles of late ; 
Yea, could I blast her with some great 

Torturing death, too terrible 

For any man to guess or tell. 
That death this morn had been her fate. 

But when the mass was done I fled 

Fast to my chamber's solace where 

I beat my breast and plucked my hair, 
And called on God to smite me dead. 
Then scorned myself — then mocked and said: 

" I strive no more — m,y tears are done. 

Between the midnight and the sun 
Shall Love command me In God's stead." 
146 



THE KING'S CHAMBER 

Then straight I rose, and saw that day 
Died like a dim cloud in the waste 
Of empty sky, and called in haste 

My tiring-maids with rich array 

Of silken robes, and bade them lay 
Jewels on breast and arms, and touch 
My face, that whitened over-much. 

With red — in that French wanton's way. 

And I laughed, " Make me like a rose — 
Perfumed and soft. Perchance to-night 
One plucks a rose for his delight. 

Make me the fairest one that blows ! " 

And one, " Nay, damosel, like those 

Strange blooms the witches give, that make 
Men wild with love if they but take 

One look before their mad eyes close." 

And when the jades had gone I tied 
My mask about my face, and made 
My cloak enwrap me like a shade; 

Then, noiseless as a shade, I hied 

To the King's door. A soldier cried 
An oath and stayed me; when I dropped 
My necklace in his hand, he stopped, 

Stared, nodded, grinned — and stood aside. 

In the King's chamber can I pray 

Those useless, empty prayers that slip 
So easily from lip to lip, 

And that pleased God but yesterday? 
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THE KING'S CHAMBER 

What word Is left for me to say, 
Who of His anger have no dread, 
But dare the living and the dead 

This night to win me from my way? 

Yea, Love hath bound like a spell, 

I have no will to hide or fear; 

To whisper, lest men's ears should hear. 
Or shrink from tales their tongues may tell. 
Oh, my beloved, loved over-well, 

Meseems that if your kiss was laid 

Close on my lips, then, unafraid. 
They still would smile through Death and Hell. 

Love, crown me with thy wit, thy grace, 

That when the King is come, and when 

He hath dismissed his gentlemen, 
I may come proudly from my place 
And lift my mask and show my face. 

And tempt his quickening caress, 

Till all my love and tenderness 
Lie folded in his close embrace. 

This is my soul's last hour — I fling 

All Heaven away, as some spoiled glove, 
For this one golden dream of love. 

Not the calm Christ nor saints that wing 

Their way through Paradise may bring 
The power to stay me. Hark! I hear 
Laughter and steps draw near, more near — 

He comes! he comes! The King! the King! 
148 



Mi 6 1909 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 







'.;-' 



